Crippling Reality
by nightblight
Summary: Okay. This is a darker fic. Pre GSR. Despite the first chapter it is definitely a GSR. If you have read this before, then there is nothing new. I noticed some continuity issues, and such and corrected them. This put it back on the list. It is complete.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: They are not mine - damn sad thing too I suspect.

That said this is so far from beta'd it may well resemble a kindergartener's first work. Forgive me. Again impatience has gotten the better of me. Though this chapter may not reflect it - THIS IS GSR. It will be a darker fic, but bear with me, I will do good by you. Promise. Finally this takes place before GSR is canon.

I upped the rating on this because of one swear word, and implied sex. It also disappeared off the server so I am not sure what it up so hopefully it will pop back up after this.

**Crippling reality**

**Chapter 1**

**By: Nightblight**

Christmas Morning 2006 : 6:20 am

Slim cool fingers rested on sanitary white bed sheets. At the moment they were clasped around another hand similar in length and form, yet thinner and paler than the one doing the holding. At the foot of the bed, stood a man in a white lab coat wearing a deeply contrasting set of institutional green scrubs. His eyes were tired, his expression even more so, the two day old scruff telling of how long it had been since he'd actually had the opportunity to visit the shower. He was into his fourth shift, having covered for the daytime doctor who was out sick with the latest rendition of the flu. Exhaustion was an understatement; bone weary would be more apt.

The woman on the bed, though not really old, looked well beyond her 62 years; the better part of her aging having happened over the last two years of her battle with terminal lung cancer. Smoking had been her only vice and it was the one thing, in the end, which had managed to stomp out her insatiable need to survive. And make no mistake about it. She was a survivor.

Squeezing her fingers the nurse leaned in and closed her eyes after she drawn her last hiccupping breath.

"Laura Ann Sidle…" The doctor glanced at his watch. "Time of death, 6:24 am, Dec. 25, 2006."

There were no tears.

The nurse, a tall gangly woman of about 46, reached over and, with an unerring finality, pulled the sheet up over the woman's face. "I didn't even know she had any family…" Her sympathetic blue eyes trailed the room and then fell sadly on the doctor, who had already shoved the clipboard under his arm and was on his way out the door.

Two days previously

Dec 23, 7am

A loud squeal emanated from Sara's cell phone, causing the woman holding it to stare horrified at the offending item. She held it away a moment and then placed it back to her ear only to wait through another round of shrieks and words spun so fast that it was next impossible to keep up with the actual conversation. The slim brunette rolled her eyes in her partner's direction, as he stood languidly running his thick fingers thought the stubble on his head, a large generous smile perched on his classically handsome face.

"Okay…" was all she managed, before the conversation started up once again on the other end of the phone. She waited a minute more glancing impatiently at her watch before finally breaking into the woman's blue streak monologue. "Lilly…."

Her friend just kept on talking.

"LILLY!"

That did the trick.

"My landlord has a spare key. I am at a scene right now." She glanced at the crimson stained floor of the warehouse. It was still mottled with grey matter and bits of skull; they would be at least another hour processing, and then they still had to head back to the lab. Sara rolled her dark eyes a second time, as the women fired a few questions her way. "I should be there no later than noon." Sara said with a finality that left little doubt as to whether the conversation was over. She flicked her phone shut and turned to Nick at the same time tossing a shy smile his way. "Sorry…"

"Hey, no problemo…" Thick rubber snapped against the solid flesh of his hands as he donned a new pair of gloves and bent in to drop a small yellow placard beside a particularly large chunk of brain. "You have company?" He grinned back at Sara as she made her way around him and snapped three photos of the marker and item it highlighted.

"Yeah…" The slim brunette mumbled distractedly and pulled a long pair of forceps from her vest pocket. "An old friend from Harvard, actually." She bent in for a closer look at the item on the floor in front of her toe. Under all of the blood pool she'd almost missed it. "I got it…" Elated, she turned back to the tall Texan and winked. "One BFG…Can you pass me a marker please?"

Nick did her one better and came over and placed it beside the bullet on the ground. "Is she cute?"

Two dark eyebrows rose, and knitted together. "Lilly?" She bent in and snapped another series of photos.

"Yeah…" Nick had turned and dropped yet another marker a few feet away while Sara placed the bullet in a bindle and then trailed after him.

"I suppose. Yeah… I mean she's maybe a little shorter than me… dark hair." The young woman grinned. "It depends on your taste. Why? You looking for a date?" She teased, at the same time crouching to get a better angle on the object Nick had found. It looked to be a silencer.

He shocked her. "Maybe…"

"Wow…" Sara actually laughed at this.

"What?" The Texan grinned.

"Have you been shot down by everyone in Warrick's entire little black book already?" It had been a running joke, when CSI Brown had gotten married he'd retired the book. Rumor had it that he'd passed it off to Nicky.

"Now, now…no need to get mean." he smirked, and picked up the silencer. "I've just never met any of your friends." He moved over to where Sara had already pulled out her flashlight, and examined it a little closer. "Think this is off a 48?"

"Could be…" Two sets of dark eyes met, and both smiled at each other. Sara yanked out a larger bindle and offered it to the man in front of her. "There is a reason why I have never introduced you to any of my friends Nicky…"

"Oh yeah...?" He dropped the metal rod into the baggy, and tugged the other one from his partner's hand. "And what would that be?"

"Other than the fact that none of them are your type…?" Her voice echoed in the cavernous warehouse, as she moved away from the concentrated area and towards the furthest spatter point.

"Yeah, other than that fact..." He squinted into the dusky warehouse wishing that the lighting was better and followed after Sara Sidle, unwilling to tell her out loud that she should be careful, for fear of his own life; but more than willing to admit to himself, that the darkened corners outside the lamp lit area made him more than a little nervous. The cops had cleared the scene, but they'd learned several times over that that didn't always mean very much. The tall Texan watched as she bent over. "What you got there?"

Sara snapped a few photos and then picked up her find, dangling it from her index finger. "Murder weapon? Looks like your 48…"

"That it does." He held out a bindle. "It was one round, through and through. We have he weapon, and bullet. Think we're done?"

"Let's just get a few more shots of the spatter." Sara suggested, and began to move around the periphery camera in hand. She snapped more photos, and then let out a loud whoop. "Got a wallet…" She took a photo and snatched it up off the ground from behind a crate and leafed through it. "Not the vics…" A smirk broke across her face. "Whatta yah wanna bet this belongs to the murderer?"

"Now _that_ would be a Christmas gift, wouldn't it?" Nick, took the wallet from her, bagged it, tagged it and dropped it into his case alongside the other items they'd collected. "So you're not going to introduce me to your friend."

Sara shook her head and laughed. "You are incorrigible, Nicky boy."

"She went to Harvard; she must be smart."

"Uh… yeah, I guess. She's a biology teacher." She packed her camera into her case, and tugged it up off the floor. "She got a degree in sciences and went onto teacher's college for a year."

"So she's good with human anatomy." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively at the woman in front of him.

Sara, in turn, punched him in the arm, and then though it over for a moment. "Well, she _is_ in town for a good time..."

"See…" Nick Stokes glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, as they wandered side by side towards the exit.

"Nick you go through women like some men go through condoms. I just don't want to have to suffer the repercussions." Sara waved to the young pock faced rookie who stood at the doorway, and stepped through and around the big puddle that was smack dab in front of it. "Have a nice day, Meyers…" She called back.

Nick simply nodded at the young man.

"You too, Sidle, Stokes…" The lanky officer stepped outside after them and lit up a cigarette.

"You cut me to the bone, Sara Sidle." Nick managed to look genuinely hurt despite the fact that he knew she was right. "Tell you what… You said she was in town for a good time. We can all go out to dinner, and show her around. You're off the next two nights right?"

"I am…" She wandered up to the truck and leaned against it waiting for Nick to get the keys out. "How come you're not going home for Christmas this year?"

"Well…" He dropped his case on the ground and scratched his head. "All of my sibs are going to their in-laws', and mom and dad are going on a cruise."

"Oh…" Sara's eyebrows rose. "So they left you high and dry…"

"Yup, a well my sister Julianne invited me to her mother in-laws' – but that would have just been strange, the woman has whiskers and yellow false teeth." He shuttered, "so I signed on for Christmas, too, but like you, off tonight and Christmas Eve. Come on we can all go out and have some Christmas Eve fun."

Sara squinted warily at him, as he popped open the trunk and grabbed her kit from her hand. "Well we're going out tonight, _alone,_" she emphasized._ "_I picked up tickets to zumanity for us, but we haven't made plans yet for tomorrow…"

"See it was meant to be, buttercup." He smirked at her, and adjusted the kits so none of them would fall over, before slamming the hatch shut.

Sara pursed her lips with great consideration, most of it fake. "Alright, this is what I'll do." She tucked a loose tendril of hair back behind her ear. "I'll run it by her and let her decide, as long as you promise never to call me buttercup again…"

"Okay, darlin'" He grinned, as she rolled her eyes and then headed for the drivers side door. "Don't worry, Sar… It'll be fun, really…" He assured her as they both climbed in the truck.

"Right…" She muttered, as she stared out into the early morning sun.

**Dec 24, 1pm**

Sara's head felt like there were a dozen little elves tap dancing on it, followed up by 8 not so tiny reindeer, all of whom were accompanied by the big red dude himself.

Jello shooters the night before had been a bad idea; 25 of them – or more - had been just plain stupid. That's why she normally took her drinks straight up, and with no frills. Drinks offered in the guise of something flavorful only served to make you want more, and tended to be extremely efficient causing you to forget that you were drinking something which would probably have you rethinking your choices the next morning. And this is exactly the situation Sara Sidle found herself in, as she wandered on unsteady legs into the bathroom, still fully dressed… including the 3 inch stilettos she'd crammed her feet into the night before. She discarded them in the middle of the floor and continued through the doorway, her eyes first passing over and unconscious Lilly dangling precariously off the couch; a distinctly male arm draped over her.

"Mmmm…" Sara moaned trying to rub a little of the muzziness out of her eyes. Thankfully, she'd woken up alone. The last thing she wanted or needed was to roll over and find a whiskey soaked stranger sharing her bed. She'd never been good at one night stands, and was even less skilled at the morning after the night before scenario.

The slim brunette gazed in horror at herself as she moved in front of the bathroom mirror. Even with the lights set on dim she looked like shit. Long fingers roamed up her face and she tugged at the bags under her eyes, before sticking her tongue out to see if there really was a wad of cotton baton in her mouth.

The last thing she solidly remembered about the evening had something to do with two very hot out-of-towners and a shooter contest. There was a taxi involved somewhere along the line, she was sure of it, because her fist was slightly abraded and she distinctly remembered slugging the driver for copping a feel, which meant at some point during the day she had to pick up her car, from somewhere.

Las Vegas was a big town…It could be anywhere.

Within moments Sara's little red dress, nylons, and various undergarments were laying in a pile on the cool white tiles of her washroom floor, and there was a hot mist filtering out from the behind the mint green shower curtain.

**Dec 24, 4pm**

Lilly was severely hung over, so much so, it had taken Sara an hour to rouse her. The guy draped over her friend had awoken just as Sara had exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel, and had attempted to get lucky again… this time with a less than appreciative Sara Sidle.

He was hot, but clearly a slime ball and the tall brunette had told him as much as she showed him the door while he was still in his shorts. A handful of clothing had followed the man – who'd introduced himself a Todd while he was trying to entice Sara into performing the horizontal limbo – out into the hallway shortly after he himself had been expulsed from the apartment.

The last few words out of the man's mouth as he made his way towards the elevator only partially dressed, sounded remarkably like "Fucking bitch", to which the young CSI had promptly responded; that the guy needed to expand on his vocabulary as the terminology he'd used was getting a little old.

It was not the first time she had been called it, and she was certain it would not be the last.

Sara sipped a strawberry banana smoothie and stared at the phone. She'd taken in an entire swimming pool worth of liquids to try and offset the worsening of her looming headache. _Push liquids_ had been the term used in college. The truth behind most hangovers was dehydration. Re-hydrate yourself and life would usually improve… well a few painkillers wouldn't hurt either. Sara had succumbed to both methods of healing, unfortunately neither was working all that well. It was this fact, and also the sound of retching emanating from the bathroom that had her contemplating the phone, and the act of canceling out on one very persistent Nick Stokes.

Her friend had already called twice; the concern in his voice evident when no one answered and voicemail picked up.

Damn…Christmas eve or not, she really wasn't in the mood to party, and Lilly, quite frankly, wasn't in any shape to be seen in public. At least that was Sara's opinion after having spent the better part of an hour trying to shake the still drunken woman awake. In the end her response had been a moan and a mad dash to the bathroom, the color of gray-green mottling her pale skin.

The term; _a watched pot never boils_ was an inaccurate. A total geek, Sara had laid that and many other colloquialisms to rest at a fairly young age. Watched pots did in fact boil, and at a fairly predictable rate, too. This was also true with telephones, when watched and waited on, they did actually ring, they didn't always have the person on the other end that you were hoping for, but they did inevitably let out a high pitched chime at some point. And that is exactly what Sara's did, startling her and causing a chain reaction that resulted in a horrendous coughing, and sputtering fit that almost had the young woman shooting smoothie out of her nose.

Still shaking and snorting back her drink, she reached for it before it could let out a second ring, which she was certain would effectively pierce her skull, and blissfully render her somewhere close to dead.

Her hello sounded way more like a moan that a greeting.

"Hey Sar…"

"Mmmm." She breathed into the phone. "Sara Sidle is unconscious – perhaps you could call her back tomorrow, when she might be a little more coherent?"

"Bad hangover, eh?" There was a definite smirk in Nick Stoke's voice.

"You could say that…" It wasn't really as bad as it had been, but it was still bad enough.

"Where did you go after the show last night?" His softly good natured Texas drawl helped a little to sooth the headache sitting behind her eyes.

"Ah let's see… We walked from the New York, New York, to a small Italian place across the street beside the MGM, and we had a late dinner. Then we walked to Light at the Bellagio, and I think we ended up at OPM… After that – to be honest it gets a little foggy."

"Wow… who knew Sara Sidle was such a party girl?"

"She's not – hence the hangover Nicky my boy." There was something half hanging out from under the couch it was reddish, and see through and drew her attention immediately. Reaching over to pick it up, Sara instantly had second thoughts and grabbed a tissue from the end table first.

"So how much did you actually have to drink?" There was a chuckle in his voice this time.

"Hmmm, let's see. Eeeuuuwww…" She'd pulled out a used condom. It appeared to be edible, based on the overwhelming cherry scent that was emanating from it. She only hoped that Lilly had eaten any of the others.

"Euuuw, what…?" A note of concern filtered through the phone line.

"Ahh nothing, just found some leftovers under my couch."

"Left overs? You? Miss neatnick?" There was genuine amazement in the other CSI's voice.

"No, not really just a wrapper from something, actually..." She held it well out in front of her as though it could explode at any time, and then quickly tossed it into the garbage, which she promptly tied up and double bagged, after she'd jammed the phone between her ear and shoulder. "Now, I know I had way too many Jello shooters… Need I say more?"

"Nah…those will do it to you every time, darlin', different jello flavor different alcohol. They will kill you if you don't watch it."

"Too late… already dead…see… you are merely talking to a ghost." She was washing her hands, now and rooting around unhappily for a paper towel.

Her friend laughed outright at this. "Good thing I have a cure then. I don't care how bad you feel buttercup; you're not backing out of our group date. I'll be over in thirty minutes."

"Wait no…Nick." It was too late he'd already hung up and she knew he wouldn't answer if she called him back.

Damn it all!

"Lilly, you need to get out here now, we have to get dressed." Her voice resonated loudly and painfully through her small apartment.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** They are not mine but I am willing to trade TPTB for on nasty ass - I'm in a bad mood cuz I can be - husband... Any takers?

That said this is so far from beta'd it may well resemble a kindergartener's first work. Forgive me. THIS IS GSR. It will be a darker fic, but bare with me, I will do good by you. Promise. Finally, this takes place before GSR is canon. The first chapter was a little Nick and Sara heavy, Nick is here in this chapter too, but there are a few other important favorites a long for the ride.

I upped the rating on this because of one swear word, and implied sex in the last chapter, and a tad in this. It also disappeared off the server so I am not sure what's up with FFnet.

**Crippling reality**

**Chapter 2**

**By: Nightblight**

**Dec. 24, 6pm**

There was very little that could change the pallor of her friend's skin. It took several layers of makeup applied with a heavy hand to make Lilly look like she was still breathing. Sara had suggested that perhaps when Nick arrived they talk him into spending an evening in, but Lilly wouldn't hear of it. Despite the fact that Sara had seen some corpses that looked better than her, she was insistent on hitting the town yet again.

Once the tall Texan set foot in the door her fate was sealed. Dressed in a dark blue fitted pullover and a pair of tight jeans, Lilly was practically oozing all over him. And it was so incredibly obvious that Sara was almost embarrassed for both herself and Nick.

"I'm just going to the bathroom before we leave." The slender biology teacher grinned brightly and sauntered off to the bathroom with more than an apparent wiggle to her hips. She was dressed in a tight navy mini dress that had been dug out of the back of Sara's closet and a pair of stilettos that made her almost exactly Nicks height. She wobbled precariously on them looking more unsteady than sexy, but message was clear to both of the CSIs.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Sorry, I think she's still drunk."

"Ah…" He nodded and then shrugged. "You look nice…you should wear your hair curly more often." Nick jokingly wagged his eyebrows in Sara's direction, causing a slight flush to color her face.

Avoiding her friends stare, Sara glanced down at her stocking clad feet, and shook away her embarrassment. She'd been temped to throw on a pair of dress pants and a simple blouse, but it was Christmas Eve, and Lilly had already ribbed her about being a Grinch, so she had pulled on a dress similar to the one she had leant her friend. But this one was black not blue, and though fitted, thankfully showed a little less cleavage than the navel baring one her friend was wearing. "Thanks…"

Nick grinned through the awkwardness and passed her a bottle of juice. "This is an old family recipe my gramma used to make. It looks gross, but I swear to god Honeybunch, it will make you feel better."

Sara eyed the bottle of viscous orangey-green liquid and cringed. "Somehow I doubt that…" Her headache had eased somewhat, but the residual strains of it still sat heavily behind her eyes. If she kept her movements slow and avoided any rapid head movements, she figured that might be a safer cure than Nick's concoction, but he didn't look like he was going to take no for an answer.

This belief was substantiated when he walked past her and slipped behind her kitchen counter.

"Seriously, one glass…will do it." He grinned, and winked at her before tugging two tall tumblers out of the cupboard.

"Those aren't glasses Nick, they're buckets." The tall brunette moved over to where he beckoned her and passed the liquid back to him.

"Eight ounces… It's a glass. Though, I have to say your friend may need a little more."

Sara grinned slightly and sniffed the drink he'd passed her. Heinous was the only way it the smell could be described. "You got that right. I think she had double what I did last night."

"What's her story, anyway?" Leaning back against the cupboards, Nick ran a thick palm over the stubble on his head, and pointed to the glass. "Big gulps, buttercup'"

Dark eyes met dark eyes, as Sara determined how much she should divulge of her friend's past. In the end she decided that the truth would be the best way to go, she wanted neither of her friends to get hurt, but when it came right down to it Nick deserved her complete loyalty. "Bad break up, abusive and controlling boyfriend…" She shrugged and dropped her voice. "Lilly has, um… esteem issues."

"Why? She attractive, educated…"

Sara stared at the liquid in her hand, and swirled it, her tone sobering slightly. "You know as well as I do, self perception is a result of environment Nicky. Being beautiful, doesn't mean you feel that way, especially if the men in your life, tell you that you're ugly and worthless."

"Her boyfriend did that to her?"

A far away look took up residence in Sara's chocolate orbs and it wasn't lost on her friend. "Yeah, he was a nasty ass piece of work, but I think most of the damage was done by her dad; formative years and all that."

"I'll be nice to her Sara." He stared at her darkly, before reaching across and nudging the hand holding her drink up to her lips.

"I know." She studied his gramma's cure for a moment and then took a liberal gulp, followed by a rapid swallow. The residual taint of the liquid on her taste buds made her gag. "God that's awful."

"It works…finish it."

She shook her head dark curls bouncing around it. "Not a chance."

"I swear it will help…" he cajoled.

"Nuh, uh…"

"One more mouthful, then..." He reached for it and helped her bring the glass to her mouth.

The tall brunette tugged the drink away from him insistent on doing it herself, and choked back another mouthful. "Uh… no more…" She shuddered and poured the remainder in the sink.

Nick simply grinned at her. "You know, I don't think I have ever seen you in a dress, Sidle."

"Shut up, Nicky." Sara turned her back to him, rinsed out the glass and tossed a smirk in the direction of the woman wobbling her way out of the bathroom. "You sure you want to do this Lilly?"

"Never more sure, Suzy Q…" Her friend walked strangely, like a tall bird trying to find its way around on stilts. Carefully she picked her way past counter and slipped her arm through the handsome Texan's, the smell of toothpaste was thick on her breath.

"You wanna try some?" He offered her the bottle still sitting on the counter. "It will cure whatever ails you…"

She grinned and leaned into the man beside her while Sara watched on. "I've heard sex will do that, too…" She winked and then dragged a flabbergasted Nick Stokes towards the door.

Following close behind Sara seized her purse off the end table, and slipped her feet into a pair of low slung kitten heels. She would let Lilly stumble about in the stilettos by herself for the evening.

"Hurry up, Sidle…" The young CSI heard her friend's musical giggle, and watched as she slipped a loose arm around her other friend as they made their way down the hall, a cat that caught the canary grin perched on her face.

Locking the door, Sara made her way towards the elevator, a tight smile on her own face. "Nicky, I suppose I should introduce you two…" She looked pointedly at Lilly, who promptly ignored her not so subtle insinuation.

"Don't worry; we'll get to know each other real well before the night is over, right? Nicky… is it?" If possible Lilly leaned in even closer, her body almost molded to the man next to her.

Amazed and enthralled by the woman's audacity, the normally confident CSI simply nodded.

"Great, well since you both seem so comfortable with each other, do you mind dropping me off at the New York, New York, Nick? I think that's where I left my car, last night. Then I'll follow you to wherever we're headed." She offered, beginning to wonder if perhaps she shouldn't have just bowed out of the evening and let the two of them go off on their own. She hated feeling like a third wheel.

A moment of blind panic showed Nick's face, before he nodded. "Sure… Anytime Sugarpie..."

"God I love a southern accent." Lilly swooned considerably, and moved onto the elevator, totally oblivious to the red flush that had crept across Nick Stokes' face.

* * *

The restaurant was elegant, dark and thankfully fairly quiet. Nick had chosen well. He'd picked Canaletto's at the Venetian. It was a small intimate restaurant that was expensive enough to be stylish, but reasonable enough not to break the bank. He'd really tried to make the evening special, as he'd clearly put some thought into dinner. Reservations had been arranged for in advance, and he'd picked a place that was vegetarian friendly.

Sara had eaten there on a few occasions and had a soft spot for their pasta primavera, a bright smile lit her face as she approached the table, but it died on her lips. From the moment she'd entered she felt like she was being watched, looking up and past the man she was joining, she noticed two pairs of surprised blue eyes staring back at her.

Issuing a tense smile, she nodded and watched as both Gil Grissom, and Sofia Curtis vacated their table, and made their way towards her and her dinner companion.

Suddenly, she found herself wishing that she was anywhere but there, as a sinking feeling swiftly took up residence in the pit of her stomach. This was not something she needed to see, or desired to know about. There had been rumors, but up close and personal confirmation of a burgeoning relationship between the two, caused an indelible ache in her chest.

Nick, who'd noticed the immediate change in his friend's demeanor followed her gaze and grimaced. He was well aware of Sara's feelings for their boss, but had thought that she'd moved past all that, over the preceding months. The deer in headlights look she was now sporting, told him that his assumption had been dead wrong.

Tearing her eyes away from the approaching twosome Sara threw a wan smile in at Nick, the dread in her dark eyes saying it all.

The friendly Texan was rarely one to involve himself in someone else's affairs unless first asked, but the look on Sara's face sparked and ire in him and he felt a need to say something to protect her from whatever it was she was feeling. Reaching across the table he grabbed her hand and squeezed it. "Sar, it's probably just two colleagues grabbing a bite before shift."

She nodded, but adroitly ignored his comment. Nick supposition was highly unlikely since the detective was wearing a fairly low cut red dress that invariably screamed fuck me, and she had accompanied this lovely number with two inch hooker heels. Add to that, the fact that Grissom himself was sporting a casual sports jacket and matching pants, and you had the undeniable evidence of a date.

It hurt.

There really was no denying it, since all the rationalization in the world couldn't disguise the truth from her failing heart. Shucking away the emotions threatening to paralyze her, Sara turned to a well practiced avoidance technique. "Uh… where's Lilly?"

If that was the way she wanted it, Nick was more than willing to play along. "She shoulda had some of my gramma's cure…" he commented, lightly. "I think she's run off to the ladies room, again."

Never had Sara been so grateful for an out, as she was at that particular moment. "I'm gonna go check on her before she pukes out her shoes." A tight grin spread across her face.

She'd just turned to leave when Sofia's voice broke the air around them. "Fancy meeting you here..." There was a certain smugness held within her words, but the distinctly unappreciative look that Grissom shot her kept her from saying anything more.

"Just thought we would grab a Christmas Eve bite since well Sara's, on her own here in Vegas, and my family has abandoned me this year…" Nick stood up and shook Sofia and Grissom's hand.

"Yeah, I was surprised when you signed on for Christmas, Nick." Grissom was talking to the younger man, but from the moment they had arrived at the table, his eyes hadn't left the slender brunette in front of him.

"Well Boxing Day is mom and dad's 45th and we chipped in for a cruise for them, but mom has to be back for the 3rd, for some Ladies Cotillion Committee meeting or something, so it was Christmas or not at all, and all my sibs are married so they took this as an opportunity to opt out of the Stokes family Christmas since none of them wanted to cook for the rest of us. God between them, and their spouses, and their kids, dinner is at least a 50 person affair, and usually a zoo." He knew he was rambling. He also knew Grissom wasn't really listening, but he at least hoped that he had given Sara a little time to gather her wits about her.

"You're not going home for Christmas, Sara?"

It really was an innocent question. Sofia, as far as Sara knew, wasn't aware of her familial situation. She probably didn't even know, she was from San Francisco, let alone the fact that her mother was still incarcerated, father dead, and well her brother…essentially MIA. However, it irked her, and still managed to cause her an immeasurable amount of pain.

The young CSI was about to answer with a simple no, when Sofia corrected herself. "Wait…Sorry." She appeared genuinely distraught over slip. "I uh…remember someone telling me you don't have any dealings with your family. I…uh…know it must be hard especially during the holidays."

Grissom looked at Sofia, in horror.

A slight lump caught in Sara's throat and she swallowed it back; the bitter taste of betrayal rising up from her belly. Each of the people staring at her sported a different façade… And for an instant she was thrown back into the all familiar feeling of being the pathetic little girl, whose mom had killed her dad.

It was almost her undoing.

Solicitous blue-eyes gazed at her; an apology at the ready. Behind them, there was anger clearly directed at his dinner companion. Sara could feel it coming off both Grissom and Nick in waves. Thwarting an already uncomfortable situation the young CSI forced a smile to her face, and nodded. "Yeah, well if I don't see you Sofia, have a Merry Christmas. I'm…" she pointed over her shoulder and addressed Nick, doing her best to completely disregard the man who was slowly taking her apart with his eyes. "I'm going to the washroom. Griss, I'll see you tomorrow night, assuming you're working."

With that she was gone, as quickly as her heel clad feet could carry her.

"Wait, Sara…"

She had almost reached the ladies room when she heard him. His voice was soft and placating, and made her want to turn around and harshly draw her fingernails down the smooth lines of his beard rimmed face. Maybe in some small way she could cause him just a modicum of the pain that he had been inflicting on her over the years. She was two steps away and deeply compelled to keep on walking, but a warm hand on her bare upper arm stopped her.

"I'm sorry."

Sara spun, doing her best to maintain a look of complete indifference on her face. "For what? Sleeping with Sofia? No biggie." Long slender arms wrapped themselves across her chest, an action that could only be interpreted as protective.

The look of horror had returned again. "No Sara…It's not…"

"Look Gris, I got the message…Okay? It's loud and clear. It has been for a while, I guess I just wasn't listening." She shrugged trying to appear as though her heart wasn't breaking. "It isn't about age, or commitment, or work, or any of those other excuses I used to use to explain away your reticence." She looked past him to the blonde standing at the end of the hallway. "I get it. I really do. It's about me, always has been." She turned, willing him to do the same.

"Sara…Please."

"No, Gris. You please…please just go, your girlfriend is waiting, and please…I'd appreciate it if you'd keep my personal family business out of your post coital confessional."

"Sara…"

"Merry Christmas, Gris." The door to the women's washroom slammed open under the force of her violent shove, and a second later she had disappeared into the sanctuary of its confines.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** They are not mine but I am willing to trade TPTB for a nasty ass - I'm in a bad mood cuz I can be - husband... Any takers?

El Gringo… How could you say NO?

That said this is so far from beta'd it may well resemble a kindergartener's first work. Forgive me. THIS IS GSR. It will be a darker fic, but bear with me; I will do good by you. Promise. Finally, this takes place before GSR is canon. Most likely after Grave danger and before Bodies in motion.

Oh and for Veronica 10 – stop eating NOW… you can resume maybe once you've read this.

I upped the rating on this because of one swear word, and implied sex, and a tad in this.

**Chapter 3**

Lunch was eight red jellybeans chased down by ten black ones. That had been at around 4 am. From that particular meal he had managed to procure a wonderful sugar high, but it was short lived, and invariably did little to help the bile that was still sitting in his throat compliments of his earlier repast and the encounter that had followed. From the time that he had dropped Sofia back at valet; Grissom had called Sara no less than 30 times. He'd left several messages at her home, but knowing she was out, he'd spent the bulk of his words on her cell phone voicemail.

Modern technology was a wonder, allowing for communication with little or no real emotional expenditure. A perfect MO for the gutless, asshole he now considered himself to be.

His heavily sigh-filled messages hadn't been mushy confessions of love, or pleading psalms of forgiveness, just numerous variations of five simple words; "Sara, its Grissom, call me." Not that he had even one scrap of a clue as to what he was going to say if he actually did get a call back, or heaven forbid an actual live answer, but anything would be a monumental improvement over the tension filled silence that she'd continued to impose on him, for the preceding 11 hours.

Where the hell was she?

Had his actions or inaction, as the case may be, finally driven her into the arms of another man?

It had been all to tempting to get into a car and head out to look for her.

All in all here had been numerous options open to him, every single one of them involving infliction of some type of emotional pain to his person.

He could have called Nick's place, but feared the possibility of hearing her warmly sated laugh in the background at three am in the morning.

He might have gone to her apartment, but was terrified of having her answer the door, clad only in a loosely tied dressing gown; apologies mingled with embarrassment when a distinctly male voice beckoned her back to bed. "You're too late Grissom; go home to Sofia…" tumbling from her mouth as she closed the door shut on him, on them.

What, them?

He could have called the Venetian only to discover that they had in fact taken a room for the night, and were at the present wrapped in each others arms replete from hours of lovemaking.

Nick definitely cared for her.

But did he love her?

Was his explanation for their dinner real?

Or where they dating?

The look on Sara's face when she stood outside the bathroom told him otherwise.

Her emotion behind her words had said it all. Up until that moment it had been Grissom.

But what about now?

Sara wasn't type to sleep with someone out of spite.

But hurt and anger often sought comfort.

Jesus…

What had he done?

Immobilized by his own fear, he had handed out the scant assignments to a skeleton crew and locked himself in his office in an attempt to keep himself from going out into the night and seeking his own potentially terrifying truth.

After over feeding Harry - several times, and re-reading this month's forensic journal – twice, he'd turned to ruminations.

Forget files, evaluations and assessments.

How the hell had he gotten himself into this mess?

After walking Sofia back to her car, he'd forced himself to be brutally honest with both himself and his blonde counterpart. For some time the former acting day shift supervisor, had been giving off waves that he had done little to discourage.

She had fed his tired ego in a way he couldn't begin allow Sara to do, without offering himself up to her part and parcel.

Sara Sidle played for keeps and he knew it. That is what had paralyzed him into inaction in the first place. A fling he could handle, casual sex was satisfying, but love was a dog of a different color and by God where she was concerned that was the only word that would suffice.

It was not that he was even remotely in interested in Sofia's offerings, but there was something about the flattery of her attention that allowed him to pull his head away from his thoughts of a particular beautiful brunette for a while; and in that, he had found solace…albeit temporarily.

The offer had been on the table a few times, slipped in with poorly hidden innuendo, and well practiced heavily lidded looks. There'd been low cut dresses, high heels, fishnet stockings, accidentally revealed lace undergarments, and talk of aphrodisiacs - all over the course of three dates that Sofia, herself, had orchestrated.

It had been easy…

All he had to do was say yes.

And stupidly, he had.

Going through the paces is what people called it and Gil Grissom had bought into it easily enough. It'd been a huge mistake; one that he'd simply allowed to happen in an attempt to numb himself from a growing obsession he was hell bent on denying himself.

Thank God he had never accepted her offer.

Thank God he hadn't slept with her.

This one fact alone had made it easier to end what shouldn't have been permitted to start in the first place.

After they had left the restaurant she'd smiled at him sexily…

_"I guess we weren't supposed to see that."_

_"What…?" He'd been only marginally listening to her ramblings about dinner and gondola rides. His mind was still lost in the saddened brown eyed stare of the woman he'd hurt mere minutes before._

_"Nick and Sara… I guess they want to keep their relationship private. She certainly seemed flustered."_

_"Mmmm…" Flustered would not have been the word he would have chosen. But then again, Sofia was completely off base with the rest of her assumptions, as well._

_He hoped…_

_But he shouldn't hope._

_He really had no right to._

_Sara deserved to be in a loving relationship with a man who could give her everything._

_God dammit! _

_He simply couldn't do this anymore. _

_The problem with denial was, that it was deceptive. You could only hide behind it for so long. Eventually, you had to pay the piper._

_"I bet they picked up a room here." She'd gripped his hand and leaned into him at that moment, with all the intimacy of a lover. "We could, too."_

_Her breath was warm on his neck, as her words were punctuated with feather light kisses along the underside of his beard._

_Sofia was attractive, intelligent, and nice. So then why, when she drew her mouth along his scruffed chin and offered him the possibility of a few hours of pleasure, was he suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to shove her away like she was some odious thing that had suddenly affixed itself to him?_

_He braced himself against his next words, as he steered her towards the exit. "I'm sorry."_

_She had stiffened perceptively._

_"I…" He couldn't look at her. "I don't think that would be a good idea."_

_"We could go back to my place, then… I mean if a hotel is to public for you?"_

_He moved away, creating a larger physical gap between them; his hand still pressed into the small of her back so he could direct her towards the valet. "No."_

_She already had her stub out and the young man had snatched it from her, just as easily as Gil Grissom's one word had stolen the smile from her face. "I don't understand."_

_But the momentary hurt in her eyes told him she did._

_Moving them both away from the milling crowd of incoming and outgoing guests, he finally brought his blue orbs to meet with hers. "Sofia…" Jesus, why was he so bad at this kind of stuff? "You are an amazing woman, and this has been great."_

_There was suddenly anger in her eyes. _

_How could he have expected that there wouldn't be?_

_"This is about her, right?"_

_"Her?" Holy shit! Was he really that transparent?_

_"Sidle…" The blond woman's arms angrily crossed her chest, and the real Sofia suddenly emerged, as though she had simply been playing a role all along. The coy, and sweetly sexy woman he'd shared dinner with, was a wash, and the tough as nails CSI was glaring back at him. "I knew you wanted to fuck her from the moment I met you."_

_His mouth had most certainly hung open at that moment; much like that of a small bird being served a dinner of worms, and not surprisingly the truth of her words tasted the same. "Sara has nothing to do with this."_

_Like hell she didn't…_

_"Like hell she doesn't."_

_"I'm not having this conversation with you. I'm sorry. I should have said no from the outset." With that he had turned and simply walked away._

He was poised to feed Harry - yet again - when he caught himself and dropped it back into the container. Poor spider probably thought it was Christmas, which actually it was…

Where the hell was she?

"Gil." Dread was etched into his old friend's face as he turned and found him standing in the doorway. Jim's demeanor matched his façade and this scared the shit out of him. He only looked like this when the case was personal.

Steeling himself for something horrendous, Grissom had already grabbed his jacket and was headed for his kit.

"You won't need that." He stared at him concern lacing his words. "There was an accident off strip. With shift change and all that, it took a while before I got the notification."

"Okay…"

"Your day shift people were on the scene. One of them recognized him…It's Nick."

His heart squeezed in his chest, and his breath stopped almost completely. The pallor of his skin must have betrayed him.

"No, no, he's alive, but in rough shape. I just came to take you to the hospital. Damndest thing, Mathers was the one who called me. It was a drunken truck driver on his way home from Palamino's. He nailed the Denali. There was a fire; thankfully Nick was pulled clear by some passerby before the thing was completely engulfed.

He could finally breathe, but only for a moment. His head begged him to stop, but the words fell out of his mouth, regardlessly. "What about passengers?"

Jim looked at him speculatively and alternately surprised. "Ah… yeah one… they think it was a woman. Not sure though, fire got to her before the Good Samaritan did. It'll be up to the doc to identify her."

Gil Grissom's knees buckled and his mind suddenly went black.

TBC

A.N. - Okay folks just ask yourself… would I do that to you? Evil Grin…


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** They are not mine but I am willing to trade TPTB for a nasty ass - I'm in a bad mood cuz I can be - husband... Any takers?

El Gringo… How could you say NO?

What no other offers?

That said this is so far from beta'd it may well resemble a kindergartener's first work. Forgive me. THIS IS GSR. It will be a darker fic, but bear with me; I will do good by you. Promise. Finally, this takes place before GSR is canon; most likely after Grave danger and before Bodies in motion.

I upped the rating on this because of one swear word, and implied sex, and a tad in this.

**Chapter 4**

With a supporting arm from Brass, Grissom had managed to regain his footing, his head immediately rationalizing what his heart was refusing to believe.

Nick could have gone out afterwards.

Met some one.

Gone clubbing.

Then why did his chest suddenly feel like it was trapped in a vice grip?

It wasn't her.

What if it was, you dumb bastard?

It isn't possible.

It is. She was with him last night.

Oh sweet Jesus. He caught the sob before it escaped his throat.

An intense ache snaked its way through his body, the organ in his chest suddenly hammering at quadruple its normal speed. For a moment he thought he was going die blissfully from a broken heart, but Brass' grip on his upper arm tugged him out of his impending anxiety attack.

"Do you know who she was?"

Overcome, Grissom moved on legs of Jello away from the man still clutching his arm. His thoughts had congealed to a daze like state, and everything seemed to slow around him. The word numb nudged its way to the forefront of his mind, and his wished momentarily that it would have some effect on the agony his pathetic heart was feeling.

It couldn't be her.

She couldn't be gone.

How the fuck do you know that?

You know as well as anyone the fragility of life you asshole…

You see it everyday!

Women, children, saints and sinners…

The grim reaper plays no favorites.

Yet instead of embracing the one thing in this world that you truly wanted, you cast it aside like it was rubbish…

It was for the best…

You are a self righteous prick!

I know…

It can't be her

Right, just keep believing that.

Shaking the recriminations from his head he barely noticed the concerned inquiries coming from Jim Brass.

The only thing he knew with complete clarity was that he had to get to the morgue…

He had to see for himself.

To disprove what his head already believed was true.

"Gil."

Tugging his arm away from his friend, Grissom moved unsteadily towards the door.

"He wasn't on last night. He was out in his personal vehicle. It wasn't one of the team…" Brass had caught up with him his own mind trying to sort through his friend's reaction. "Do you know who was with? Was he seeing someone from work?" Fear coiled in the pit of his belly.

He stood all of two seconds in front of the elevator, his palm pounding the down button anxiously. Then he headed for the stairs taking them two at a time.

"Hold up, now." Brass trailed down the stairs behind an oblivious Gil Grissom, his thighs and pelvis aching. "I am getting to old for this shit," he mumbled under his breath, as the stench of decomposition and fetid body fluids broke through into the stale confines of the stairwell.

By the time he'd reached to morgue area, his friend was already half way down the hall.

Breaking out into a run, a string of curses left in his wake, the seasoned detective managed to surpass Grissom, just as he reached the door and threw himself across it; barring any and all entrance until he got the answers he was looking for. A dull ache had settled in his stomach and a sense of impending horror was already clutching at his heart.

There were very few things that would have his stoic friend reacting the way he was, add to that the general description of the passenger that was given to him and he suddenly felt the need to steel himself behind the guise of Captain Jim Brass. "Who do you think it is in there?"

For a moment Brass thought for sure Grissom was going to punch him just to get him out of the way. But a moment later the fury in his friend's eyes had died, replaced by sorrow and fear, he watched as his friend sagged; the breaking of his spirit was almost audible.

Brass' gut clenched the moment her name fell from Grissom's lips. It came out as a sob, a cloying reverence marring it.

As if spurred on by the vocalization, Grissom pawed at the door in an attempt to push by the burly detective.

Jim Brass would have nothing of it. The cop in him wanted proof, while the friend in him wanted time to process the possibility, and prepare for the potential pain of losing someone he had come to think of as a daughter. "How do you know, this?"

"She was with him…" Tears had flooded Grissom's eyes.

"When?" He braced himself against another shoving session, as the man in front of him reached for the door.

"Last night, at Canaletto's." The pain of his final encounter with Sara came surging back to Grissom, almost bringing him to his knees.

"How do you know this?"

"I saw her there with Nick. They were having an early Christmas dinner. Oh…God Brass…" It seemed almost as though finally saying the words aloud had somehow made it all real. "What if it really is her in there…?"

"How do you know they were there together? What time?" He was grasping at straws himself, trying to maintain his professional composure.

"Around 6 pm. I saw them. I was there…"

"You were with them then… Did they say anything about plans for the evening; maybe he took her home, and went out? What did you talk about?" He knew he was firing off questions that, in his state, the man in front of him could barely compute, let alone answer. He stopped and held out a steadying hand. "Did they say anything about plans for the evening?"

"I wasn't a part of their conversation. I was there, but with someone else." Grissom almost choked on his words.

"Okay." Brass was sorely tempted to ask who he was there with, but in his heart he really didn't want to know. He too had been privy the rumors of late, and he knew that the outcome of Sara having seen Grissom with a certain blonde CSI, could not have been good.

"God I've fucked this up so badly Jim, what if I've lost the chance to make things right?"

There were two things that Brass had never heard his friend do; surprisingly, the first was say the word fuck, and, not surprisingly, the second was voice a personal regret. A deeply private man he and Grissom had talked repeatedly about cases and the state of the world, and from these conversations he'd gathered small snatches of information and insight that contributed to building the personality of the man he'd come to know, and care for as a friend. But Gil Grissom had never been forthcoming in his personal feelings. He just wasn't that kind of a man.

He'd been more than shocked, a few months previously, when a completely exhausted Grissom had used the interrogation room as a sort of a confessional during the questioning of Dr. Lurie. And at the same time, he'd known instantly that Sara was the woman his friend had been referring to. If he was right and things had gone down the way he suspected the previous evening, Gil would never forgive himself.

FUCK!

"You don't know that that's her in there." His voice was steady as he tried to conceal his own growing terror. "That was over twelve hours ago. He could have taken her home, picked up someone. The accident was around 6am, off strip."

"They were at the Venetian, maybe they grabbed a room." The last few words were a whisper.

Now that was a whole other bucket o' shit. "Were they seeing each other?" Brass found it hard to believe. He knew that despite her desire to hide her feelings, the young CSI had it bad for the quiet and often weird bugman. They were two peas in a pod, and he had never met two more socially inept and seriously fucked up people in his life.

She wouldn't have been seeing Nick, but that doesn't mean she wasn't with him.

"I don't know. I don't think so, but maybe after we… I…" the words were broken and slow in coming. "God what if it is her."

Yanking his phone from his pocket, Brass hit speed dial and waited a moment for the recipient to pick up.

A sleepy detective's voice broke across the line.

"Vartan, I want you to haul your ass out of bed for me. Call the Venetian find out if there was a room rented under the name of either Nick Stokes or Sara Sidle last night. If it comes up a yes see if you can pull up film on the twosome and get it over to the lab…" a beat. "I don't give a fuck what time it is. I want this ASAP."

Over the course of the thirty seconds the phone call had taken to make, Gil Grissom's pallor had taken on a grayish color and he was now sitting on the floor beside the morgue doors, his head resting listlessly on his knees.

Brass crouched beside his friend. "Okay man, this is the way it's going to go down. I'm going to go in there alone. From the description I got of the body, we're not going to learn much by seeing it. I'll tell doc your suspicions and tell him to get a sample to DNA."

Terrified dark blue eyes stared back at Brass for a moment, before he nodded silently.

Grissom wasn't sure if he could get up, even if he wanted to, his legs seemed to have stopped responding.

"I need you to think. What was she wearing? Any jewelry? Something unique to Sara?"

The memory of the evening toyed cruelly with Grissom's already crushed heart. She had been beautiful. Most of the men in the restaurant had turned to look when she'd walked in, a tall and dark mysterious beauty in her form fitting dress. "She was wearing a short black dress." His words faltered. Her eyes had captured his, and from that point on he'd paid attention to little else. "Shoes with low heels, I think."

"Anything else? A necklace? Ring? Earrings? Something that the fire wouldn't easily have burned away."

Grissom shook his head a sob escaping past the weight in his chest. "God…" Thick fingers ran an anxious path through his hair. "I can't remember." All he could think of was the pain he'd seen in her large dark eyes, and her words…

"_Merry Christmas, Gris."_

"Okay…wait here." With that Brass drew himself to his feet and braced himself for the nightmare that was coming. "You can do this." he muttered, bolstering his own courage before pushing the door to the morgue open.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** They are not mine, Dammit!

What can I say – this is angsty GSR. It will be a darker fic, but bear with me; I will do good by you. Promise. Well maybe. Bwahaha… Finally, this takes place before GSR is canon; most likely after Grave danger and before Bodies in motion.

I upped the rating on this because of one swear word, and implied sex.

Thank you all for your kind words of encouragement. I am a review slut, so you all are fulfilling my sad and pathetic need for approval.

**Chapter 5**

Doc Robbins was mid-chew through a pastrami sandwich when a flustered and anxious Jim Brass burst through the door. Meat still dangling from his furry maw, he poked the rest of it in with a thick finger and heartily masticated the rest as though the fact that he was eating in a room full of cadavers was a perfectly natural thing to do; which essentially, to him, it was. But that made it no less abnormal in the police captain's eyes.

With great trepidation, the hardened detective, allowed himself to peruse the macabre room.

A room full of cadavers was an apt description. Though normally not a place lacking in dead bodies, it appeared that on this particular morning the morgue was packed to the rafters. At least 5 bodies were lined up a long one wall, waiting to be sliced and diced and sewn back together. There were another three shoved haphazardly into one of the washing bays, clearly waiting their turn in line. And finally, there was one that was fully splayed open on the steel table in the middle of the room, its entrails dangling from a scale hoisted above it, and what looked to be both a heart and a nasty set of lungs, sitting one of the larger basins, by its feet.

The morgue truly was a little shop of horrors, and most definitely not a place that anyone would want to pick up a Christmas gift. Yet, as it were Brass was hoping for just that.

With its blue green walls and sterile metallic surroundings, the place Al Robbins spent his nights, was devoid of stimulation and color, and easily sucked the life out of a person the moment they set foot through the door.

It was after all, a place of death.

A low whistle escaped Brass' mouth, as he edged a few feet into the room, and coming in direct contact with the first of the ever changing populace, an elderly black lady with a large head wound, he stopped; the discomfort in his stance detailing his innate desire to turn and bolt. "What no room at the Inn, Doc?" The quip invariably tumbled from his lips, an unsuccessful attempt to shed some of the aching anxiety that had enclosed him like a one of the coroners, own, air tight body bags.

"Pretty much," Robbins ground out around a mouthful of sandwich, his hand habitually grabbing for the napkin beside his report, and then drawing a perfunctory trail across his two lips. "Mack Truck on the I-90 rolled over, crushing a van with 7 passengers on their way to Vegas for the holidays, and took out two more vehicles as it skidded to a stop. Total body count on this one? 13… Add that to the usual mayhem that's Vegas, and yes ideedy Captain, the Inn is full." Taking a generous gulp of something that could only be described as swamp scum; he plunked his "_Born to be Wild_" cup down on the counter in front of him and slid down off the stool he was perched on. "So Jim what brings you to my neck of the woods? It's been a long time."

Brass nodded silently for a moment not sure how he was going to break the news to the good doctor about the possibility of one of his _patients_ actually being a coworker, when he himself was could barely come to terms with the fact.

Suck it up…Jimbo…He ordered himself, and forced his disobliging legs to take another step towards the man in front of him. Hands wringing and a distinct lump forming in his throat, the shaken officer bit back the remnants of his lunch, which was trying to force its way up through his esophagus and nodded a greeting.

Doc Robbins stared at him expectantly, and hobbled a few more feet towards him.

Turning to look back at the door behind him, Jim Brass and swallowed heavily, at the same time attempting to maintain some form of professional decorum. Someone had to do this, he reminded himself, and if it wasn't him, then it would certainly fall to the wrecked man, crumpled on the floor outside the morgue doors.

He couldn't do that to his friend.

This was going to cut him to the bone, but that was nothing compared to what Gil Grissom was already feeling. "The burn victim, from the car accident on Koval..." There was a slight hitch in his voice as it faltered and then petered out completely. He cleared his voice and tried again. "I need anything you can tell me about her."

"Our Jane Doe…The passenger from Nick's car?"

"Yeah, that's the one…"

"Can't tell you much right now, I haven't really had a chance to look at her..." Using his cane he shuffed aside a garbage can that was in his way, and took a few steps closer to the police captain. "I can confirm that initial suspicions were right. Based on the width of the pelvis, she was a woman, but that's about all I can give you. How's Nick, by the way? Dave told me he was in rough condition when they took him away." Concerned blue eyes rested on hazel, seeking any possible news. "I'm going to stop by after I'm done here."

"He was going into surgery to repair a fractured femur, when I last talked to the people at the hospital. His injuries were apparently serious but not immediately life threatening. He'll be in surgery for a few hours." Brass' eyes searched the room looking for the victim in question.

Relief temporarily eased the anxiety on the coroner's scruffy face, but it was immediately washed away by Brass' next words.

"We need an ID on her ASAP."

Al Robbins licked his lips; a droplet of mustard clinging to his moustache contributing to the sour taste that was already forming in his mouth. "She was the last one brought in this morning; I have all these others to process. Can I ask why she gets priority?" A nasty headache was beginning to build behind his eyes.

Jim Brass never visited the morgue. Even when he was the supervisor of the lab, he'd steered clear of it as much as possible. For him to be there now, inquiring about a victim, who was injured along with a CSI, well… it simply did not bode well. Add to that the fact that the police captain looked like he was shifting between being ill and breaking out into tears; Al Robbins suddenly felt a tremor of fear quake through him. His voice was soft, as he glanced back over his shoulders towards a secondary room. "Who do you think it is?'

"It's unconfirmed, but Gil, he said he saw Nick with Sara, last night at the Venetian."

Robbins face turned a pasty shade of white, and he slumped back against one of the nearby gurneys. For a moment it was silent in the room save for the rasping breaths of two men contemplating the terrible twists of fate the life had a tendency to throw one's way. "He's sure…?"

"Yeah…He apparently talked to them."

"That was last night."

"Yeah…" Brass waited for the man in front of him to fully digest the situation. It didn't take very long.

There was very little hesitation when he turned around and stiltedly wove his way through the room to the doors on the other side. "Give me a minute."

Jim Brass made his way across the room to follow the coroner into the ante room, but the man turned, his glassy blue eyes betraying a collection of unshed tears. "If that is her in there, Jim, you might be better off not going in. The defining characteristics of the body have all been claimed by the fire, it's bad enough that I'll have to remember her that way; are you sure that you want your last memories of Sara to be those of a charred corpse?"

Drawing a thick palm down his face, the captain shook his head. He didn't want to remember her as dead at all. In fact he was frantically hoping that at any moment she would walk into the morgue looking for Robbins and some file on a case.

"Give me a few minutes."

Brass nodded solemnly and reached for his cell phone, noting for the first time in a long time there was a tremor in his hands. Broad fingers stabbed at the numbers on the pad, and a moment later the sleepy voice of Warrick Brown was bouncing around in his ear. As succinctly as possible and voiding any details about a passenger, he told him about Nick's being in the hospital, and asked him to let the others know. He'd actually pulled the phone away from his ear and was about to hang up when a thought struck him.

"Hey Warrick wait…" He yelled into the phone hoping the other man hadn't hung up yet.

"Yeah…"

"Do you know if Nick was seeing anyone?"

"Ah…no…I mean no one special that I know of."

"Okay man, thanks."

His next call was to a certain blonde.

Catherine appeared to already have been apprised of the situation. The minute she answered she was shooting off a ream of questions, so much so that it was difficult to get a word in edgewise.

"Cath…He's in surgery now." That had been in answer to the last question she had asked. "How and when did you find out?"

The woman on the other end was still processing at top speed. "Until we do the final staff changes, and swing is fully blended back into graveyard, I'm listed at his supervisor and therefore the first one contacted in case of emergency. I got the call 5 minutes ago. Damn, I am going to have to call his parents, again… He's still recovering from his ordeal a few months back and now this…How long has he been in surgery? Have you gotten any more news?"

Brass glanced at the watch on his wrist and hefted a weighty sigh into the phone. "Maybe an hour or so, and I haven't heard anything since."

"I just tried to call Warrick, his line is busy. I'm going to let the rest of the team know. Have you talked to Grissom?"

"Yeah…that's what I was calling you about. He's uh… I'm going to bring him to the hospital, but he's a bit of a mess. He's your friend, too, and I uh…I just thought you should know."

"But Nick's going to be okay, right? A broken leg…possible head injury…contusions and maybe busted ribs…Jefferson said it was serious, but he's stable, right?"

"Right, but Cath there was someone in the car with him."

"Ah…Okay." Uncertainty colored the blonde woman's voice.

"I haven't told anyone else on the team, yet, and I would like you to keep it to yourself until we know for sure." His breath shuddered in his chest.

"Know for sure? Jesus, Brass you're scaring me here." She was leaning up against her counter now one slim arm draped protectively around her waist, as if in an attempt to protect herself from something terrible.

"His passenger died, and it's going to be a difficult ID because there was a fire."

"Well, who the hell do you think it is?" Brass wasn't privy to it, but if he had been there standing in the kitchen with her, he would have seen the sudden tension in the woman's shoulders, and the panic in her eyes.

It couldn't be Warrick… they were good friends…But he had been on duty, the night before, and his line was busy...

Greg? They would sometimes go out to a bar, but he too had been on duty. She knew this for sure because their shift had overlapped and she'd argued with him about the availability of one of the work rooms.

She was still building a list in her head, when Brass' seemed to have finally found his voice, putting a rest to any more speculation.

"We think it might be Sara…They were both off, and apparently they were out together."

"Oh…God…" Catherine felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. "No…" That would explain why Grissom was a mess. She was well aware of her friend's hidden feelings for the younger woman, though he himself seemed content to live in denial. If she was dead…Sweet Jesus, Fuck!

Reaching for an emotional purchase of any kind, Catherine started running theories though her rapidly firing brain. Anything, that would give her, them, Grissom - some hope. "How do you know they were together? I know they were both off, but that doesn't mean they were with each other…" In her head she knew there had to be more their suspicions than simply that, but she wasn't beyond grasping at straws. "Has anyone tried to call her? She told me one time she had a brother, maybe she's visiting with him. It is Christmas after all. I know she's on tonight…was supposed to be on tonight...Mother of God…" Her last words were high pitched, reaching an almost hysterical plateau. This simply could not be happening. They had gone out less than three days before for drinks, and Sara had just last shift given her a funky little purse to give to Lindsay. The victim of an upscale smash and grab had dropped it off as a gift for the young brunette, as thanks for capturing the guy who had robbed and assaulted her. Sara had said, that she thought that the younger Willows would like it.

Brass took each of her questions in order. "They were seen together, last night, and no I haven't tried to call, but I will the minute I get off the phone. I will look up her brother's information, too."

"I'll try, too." Her voice was trembling openly now. "I'll let everyone, know, about Nick," she added, "and then I'll meet up with you at Desert Palms." The last sentence came out as a sob.

"Okay."

Immediately, hitting speed dial. Jim Brass called first Sara's home, and then her cell; but neither responded with anything other than a quick concise voicemail message. "Hey, you've reached Sara…"

He left the same message on both. "Hey cookie, it's Jim, listen, when you get this message, give me a call. I don't care what time it is."

By the time he'd finished depressing the off switch; Doc Robbins had returned, a heavy shuffle to his step and his face betraying little. Clutching several baggies with a variety of samples he made his way over to the detective and passed him the items. "I can call up but it may take a while for someone to make their way down here. It'll be faster if you drop them off to DNA."

Brass stared at the samples in his hands, confusion etched on his face as the coroner made his way back over to his desk area. "That's it? That's all you're going to tell me?"

"What else do you want me to say?" Robbins' blue eyes darkened. The last thing he wanted was to be the bearer of bad news.

"Is. It. Sara?" The question was whispered from across the room, a broken collection of words that were issued with immense dread. Gil Grissom stood just inside the door way, a mixture of hope and anguish warring on his normally placid face.

Doc Robbins' misty blue eyes shifted between the two men, his heart going out to the nightshift supervisor. He knew that of all of his team members, Grissom was particularly close to Sara. He'd watched them work together a few times, and had caught his friend staring reverently at the young woman when she wasn't looking. "Jim has the samples. We should wait for a definitive answer from the lab, Gil." This was going to be painful enough, speculation would just muddy the waters, and make the situation that much more traumatic.

"I need… I have to know. Please…You have to have some idea." His heart was hammering loudly in his chest as he moved a little farther into the room, his eyes avoiding everything but the man in front of him. He didn't want to accidentally see her laying still and lifeless on some steel gurney. As much as he had felt compelled to confirm or deny the possibility earlier, in his heart he knew he simply wouldn't be able to survive it. And now was not the time to crumble. The team would need him; there was Nicky to look after. If she was…gone… _He avoided the word dead entirely, he simply couldn't process it_. Then there were people to notify, and arrangements to be made. There would be plenty of time to fall apart later, when he was alone.

Al Robbins had called up Sara's employee information on the computer screen in front of him, hoping to find any distinguishing characteristics. In his fist he clutched a small sheet of note paper, which he'd tugged out of his pocket.

Turning around a moment later he shook his head and leveled them both with a tempered gaze, his professional guise slipping protectively back into place. There was nothing definitive he assured himself, his hand nervously swiping at a non-existent spot on his scrubs. "As we established, the victim in there is a woman." He pointed over his shoulder towards the door, noticing an immediate sag in Gil Grissom's shoulders. "Her age is indeterminate; the body is too severely damaged to tell. Height, according to Sara's file, it's close. Ms. Sidle is listed at 5'9", the victim after I straightened her out, came up as 5'8, but as you know, when exposed to extreme heat bones can denature, and warp slightly, that could explain the discrepancy, so could poor initial measurements. I have taken dental films, but have nothing to compare them to as of yet, though I'm not sure how helpful they will be when I do see them." He swallowed heavily. "Several of her front teeth were knocked out probably during impact." Al Robbins knew the visual he was creating was torturous. Shifting slightly from one prosthetic leg to the other, the older man sucked in a wavering breath and contemplated why he hadn't retired a year earlier when he'd been offered the opportunity. "There really wasn't much left, as it was a thorough burn. Weight is impossible to determine…at this point." He shuddered slightly and forced himself to continue relaying the facts. "According to the file here, Sara has a tattoo on her ankle; all of the flesh in that area is gone, so I can't get a match." Al Robbins moved his eyes to Jim Brass. It was killing him to watch Gil turn paler with each passing word. "No jewelry on the body. Eyes brown, I believe – but that applies to a fair portion of the Earth's populace. Hair…? None on the head, again as a result of the fire, but I believe she was a brunette. Her body burned fully but there was a small amount of flesh not completely destroyed in the folds of her elbow, and in the groin region, that's where I found a residual hair sample. All of her clothing is gone, with the exception a few small scraps of charred material possibly a black dress or pants, and some lace - most likely an undergarment of sorts, found in the same pelvic fold. I'm not sure if it's pertinent or helps in anyway, but the lace was damp, that's probably why it survived. Based on location, and the nature of the surviving item itself, she may have had sex prior to death. I took a swab, it turned blue." He stopped, and stared at the horrified faces of the two men in front of him. He was certain that any minute Gil Grissom was going to be violently sick. His voice wavered and softened colleague turning back into friend. "I'm sorry, that's all I can tell you. Your answers are in the samples I've given you." With that the man swiped at a tear that had managed to escape his intense blue eyes.

TBC

A/N forgive me I am posting this at like 3am. I have reread it but that doesn't mean much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** They are not mine, Dammit!

What can I say – this is angsty GSR. It will be a darker fic, but bear with me; I will do good by you. Promise. Well maybe. Bwahaha… Finally, this takes place before GSR is canon; most likely after Grave danger and before Bodies in motion.

I upped the rating on this because of one swear word, and implied sex in previous chapters.

Thank you all for your kind words of encouragement. I am a review slut, so you all are fulfilling my sad and pathetic need for approval. For that I am truly grateful.

**Chapter 6**

She never wore nail polish.

It was the strangest thought that bounced around in his head. Through the entire tensely conducted ride to the hospital, even with Jim's hushed discussion on his cell phone, and despite the man's concerned running commentary on how they couldn't give up hope until the DNA results were in, all he could think about was how Sara never wore nail polish.

He's once told the crying young woman that _the mind has its filters_. For Gil Grissom he was now gaining first hand knowledge that this statement was very true, as he was finding it impossible to focus on anything, but that one thought rolling constantly through is brain.

She wasn't dead, she simply couldn't be.

Red, well that was an unwieldy color, not sublime enough for Sara. She was as vibrant as the color itself, but it was something that would draw too much attention to her. No not red she would never have painted her nails that color. She was used to hiding. She never wanted to stand out.

She could have gone home, turned the phone off and hit her bed. She was sleeping now, oblivious to the happenings around her.

Maroon, well that was too strong a color as well, though as a sweater or blouse, against her pale and perfectly unblemished skin, it made her look luminous. But on nails, it was garishly dark, and a color far too close to the spatter they saw on a daily basis. No, that was not something she would readily have chosen.

"Brass…," Grissom had mumbled mid trip, "send someone to her house, just to make sure she's not there."

His friend's answer was lost in amongst the color fuchsia. The pallid entomologist was contemplating the vivid purplish shade when they'd pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. It was a nice color, and its proximity to her favorite color made it a strong contender, but no it wasn't a color that Sara would wear. It was too childlike for her. She'd been forced to grow up at a very young age. And after their conversation a few months previously, he knew that by the time she was able to understand her surroundings all trace of the little girl that was Sara Sidle had been washed away by the realities of domestic abuse. No, this was not a color that would have adorned her long slim fingers.

A lump the size of a football had formed in his throat.

He'd need to get in touch with her mother and find her brother if…

Peach… well that was just an ugly color. In fact, in all the time he'd known her, Sara had stayed away from almost every color in the orange family. Maybe she knew inherently that it was not good visual choice for her. The delicate pink tones of her skin would have clashed horribly with anything in the peachy orange family. Nope. Sara would never have worn peach.

By the time they had made their way to the surgical unit Grissom was dumbly contemplating the color pink. The color was soft, a lot like the insides of the woman who infamous for only showing a tough outer veneer.

Most of the people that new Sara, and worked with her, were unaware that she did indeed have a softer side, in particular when dealing with victims, animals and small children. But also unbeknownst to the people she called friends, yet still held at arms length; she was very feminine in her everyday life.

Grissom knew this about her without a doubt.

The one time they had been together in San Francisco, the Sara Sidle he had spent the evening making love to was every bit the vulnerable woman she'd tried so hard to hide from the rest of the world. Clad in the emotional armor of a little black dress, she'd literally taken his breath away when in the heat of her embrace; he'd peeled it off of her, to reveal a baby pink bra and panties.

He'd been lost in her femininity from that point on.

And he had no doubt that under her everyday work wear she sported similar under garments. In the past he'd caught occasional snatches of them. And each and every time he had been ruined for the rest of the shift.

What the world saw on a daily basis was a front; merely a sham to protect her frail heart from being uncovered. It was not the woman that truly existed, but a toughened exterior that hid the real Sara from everyone and everything. It was truly a protective instinct spawned by exposure to continued abuse.

Maybe that is what had made his betrayal so incredibly painful to her. She rarely let people in, but for some reason, he still couldn't fathom, she'd allowed him access to a very private place, and kept the door ajar far longer than any other woman would have. And he'd fucked her over royally in the name of cowardice. He had strung her along, and lied repeatedly to himself and her, his own safety taking precedence over hers.

He truly was an asshole in the finest sense of the word.

Yes, pink was a color she could have worn, but didn't, because she knew with a certainty that like anything when exposed to the harsh elements repeatedly, it would invariably be chipped and worn away by everything around it.

Cath was at his side immediately when they entered the surgical unit, her fussing and demand for attention, forcing him to pull his thoughts away from the one thing that was occupying it.

Midway down the hall she tugged both he and Brass into a small television room, and leveled them both with a piercing stare. The darkness in her eyes and the unspoken apology on plastered on her face was almost his undoing.

"Do you have any news?" For a petite woman she was very strong, and her fingernails hurt as they dug into Grissom's arm.

Brass cast a look at the man standing beside him, and nodded sorrowfully. "None, yet. Doc can't give us anything definitive, we are waiting on DNA as we speak." He avoided repeating the horrible details in hopes that the former swing shift supervisor would get the hint, and not ask.

He needn't have worried she was already rolling forward much like a locomotive set loose on a downhill track. "I pulled her employee information, and when I didn't get the details I needed there, I contacted the lab in SF. They weren't able to give me any particulars regarding her family, but I did manage to get a name for the town she grew up in."

"Tamales Bay…" It was Grissom's only contribution to the conversation his brain preferring to remain numbly preoccupied with inane things, like the texture of Sara's hair in his hands, and the smell of her freshly showered skin.

"Yes…that's her home town." The blonde woman acknowledged her liquid blue eyes studying her friend a moment before she continued. She wasn't sure how much he knew about her past, but over the course of a 20 minute phone call the seasoned CSI had learned more about the young woman than she ever wanted to know. Some of it was just too horrible, and the rest profoundly disturbing, all of it painting a picture that had her regretting every snap, mean word, nasty quip that she had ever uttered in Sara Sidle's direction. But hind sight was 20/20; she chided herself and barreled on. "I called the local sheriff there, thinking that because it's a small town he may know the whereabouts of her family."

"_Sidle, eh? Which one?" Sheriff Volinski, had a crustiness to his voice that could only be acquired over years of public service, and exposure to all manners of shit. _

"_Ah well the call is about Sara, but I am actually looking to contact any family members she may have in town."_

"_Ahh… The little girl. She was a pretty little thing, big dark eyes, kinda tall for her age, cute as hell smile. Always wondered what became of her… Figured she'd ended up a hooker, or junkie; like that useless tit of a brother of hers."_

_Catherine, despite her rollercoaster relationship with the younger woman, instinctively responded in her defensive. "Well actually Sheriff, Sara is a seasoned criminalist with the Las Vegas crime lab."_

"_Well imagine that. Thought for sure, with a family like hers, she would be a write-off from the start. I mean with an abusive alcoholic for a father, and a mom that used to pop pills to escape from it all. I expected she'd follow in the footsteps of her doper brother. 'Specially after she was hauled away by Child Protective Services."_

"_She was in foster care?" Catherine's head was swimming at this point. The woman she worked with daily had given no outward indication as to the type of home life she'd had growing up. But it did explain a whole lot about why certain domestic cases set her off._

"_Hell yeah, damndest thing. I was a rookie at the time… Guess Laura, that's her mom, got tired of having her head beaten in and took a butcher knife to that low-life husband of hers. There was blood everywhere. Little Sara, musta watched the whole thing, she was covered in blood and completely catatonic when we arrived. I tell you it was the first time I had ever seen anything like it. I swear I puked up everything I'd eaten from at least three days before."_

"_So her father's dead?"_

"_With six holes in him he sure as hell was. Her brother Evan took off and never came back. And let me tell you it was good riddance. He was a bad assed son of a bitch, in constant trouble with the law ever since he was a little kid; moved up from stealing bicycles, and harassing his school mates, to assault, B&E and dealing drugs. He was older that Sara, maybe six years. A criminalist, eh?" _

"_Yeah a damn good one too." Catherine wasn't sure why, but she felt the need to prove to the man that he was wrong about the future of the child he'd known so long ago_

_"Well, ain't that a pip. Good to hear. Tell her hello for me." The older man sounded genuinely pleased._

_"Ah, yeah…" Swallowing down the lump that had formed in her throat, she barreled on. "I will, uh." When I see her again, after they prove that the passenger in the car isn't her. "So her brother is no longer in town then..?"_

_"No. hasn't shown his face around here since that day, Ms.Willows is it?"_

_"Yeah." _

_"Well Ms. Willows, if I hear from him. I'll let you know, but don't be expecting a call from me anytime soon." The sheriff seemed to be getting ready to hang up._

_"Wait, uh her mother. Is she still around? Maybe living in town…?" The blonde woman wasn't sure why she was even going through all of this. Sara simply wasn't dead. _

_"Now, that's easier, after doing a stint at the Langley Porter loony bin, she was convicted of first degree murder, and has been incarcerated at the Orange County prison for women, ever since."_

_Catherine's gasp was audible. "She got life? Her husband was abusive, she killed him and she got life?"_

_"Well see that's the crux Ms. Willows. It wasn't self defense. Apparently, he was out cold on the couch at the time."_

_"But according to you she was abused."_

_"Yes, but a jury of her peers convicted her. It was premeditated."_

_"After having her head bashed in repeatedly…"_

_"I didn't convict her."_

_"Right. Thanks Sheriff." She was supremely irritated when she got off the phone, so much so that she actually had to take a walk around the hospital to calm down. Her next call had been to the jail, but it being Christmas, there was a skeleton crew on and the phone had gone directly to a machine. She left an angry stilted message, and prayed that they would call back. _

Grissom's heart seized, already disliking where this conversation was headed, but he was far too late to head an already aggravated Catherine off at the pass. She turned on him immediately. "Did you know about it? About her past?"

A nod was all he could manage as the picture of her tearful face a few months before assaulted his memory.

"You knew and you didn't say anything? You knew that she was a child of domestic abuse, yet you continued to place her on cases that brought those memories to the forefront every single time? Are you really that oblivious? Or are you just inherently cruel?"

It was Brass who came to the beleaguered man's defense, though the look on his face said that he somewhat agreed with the blonde woman's assessment. Grissom had almost crumpled in on himself, and for the first time in all the years he'd known the entomologist, he actually saw tears in his eyes. "Catherine that's not fair. This business, this job, that's what it is…Violence. Sara knew…"

"Knows…" Grissom looked pleadingly at both the people sharing the room with him.

"Sara knows this, knew it when she chose this field." A thick palm drew itself down his face in an attempt to wipe away the exhaustion that had already crept into his bones. He'd been on for three shifts and was sporting the beginning of a fine stubble to prove it. "Maybe it's why she went into chose it to begin with? To help...You can't blame Gil for letting her do her job."

"She never wanted special treatment. She would have been angry if I had even tried to protect her from it." The bugman finally found his voice, trying to put to words his reasoning. "I only found out about 5 months ago." He said it softly, at the same time wondering if she was right; if he was actually a combination of both things; oblivious and cruel. It was his job to know, if not as a supervisor, then at least as a friend. "I know that's no excuse…" The words jammed in his throat and he turned away.

"Christ!" Catherine ran her hands through her hair, wiping away the tears in her own eyes. "Everything, I've said to her. That fight we had. God this explains so much."

Grissom suddenly found himself with an arm full of Catherine. She was clutching him. He stiffened at first before relaxing slightly into the comfort of her embrace. "She won't want anyone else to know…" He simply couldn't accept that she was gone.

Catherine stepped back a moment later and bit back the words that she was about to utter. She wanted to tell him to prepare for the eventuality; that she might be gone, but the look of absolute pain on his face stopped her dead in her tracks. "Right... Uh…" Her eyes shifted to Brass. "I didn't tell the others, yet, about Nick's passenger. I thi…."

A two note version of _"Wonderwall"_ broke through the relative quiet of the room, and she reached instinctively for her cell phone. "I know…" She flipped it open. "But this is important. I'll turn it off as soon as I'm done. Hello…" She held it to her ear. "Willows…"

There was a prolonged silence with a number of yes' and okays'. Her face seemed to collapse in response to the one-sided conversation she was having.

Grissom suddenly felt the need to separate himself from everything in the room. If this was the DNA results, he didn't want to know; preferring to live in denial for a little while longer. He was egged on by the intense desire to disappear down a rabbit hole and have tea with the mad hatter, leaving reality far behind him.

Catherine must have read the emotions flashing across her friend's face because she reached out and grabbed his limp hand giving it a slight squeeze in the process. Even Brass had stepped closer to him, a dozen _"Our Fathers"_ floating through his brain. He was more than willing to trade a little atheism for belief, if it meant a reprieve from the possible repercussions of this particular phone call. He wasn't above any last minute bargaining. "Thanks…" She slapped the phone closed and ruthlessly shoved it back into her pocket. "It was the women's jail in Orange County."

The two men in the room visibly slumped in relief.

"Laura Sidle was a resident of C block until 6am this morning, when died peacefully in her sleep of terminal lung cancer."

"Hey…." The door burst open and a wide-eyed Greg Sander popped his head in, "Nick's out of surgery. His doctor's in the other waiting room." He looked at the three pairs of anguished eyes staring back at him. "I just thought you should know."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** They are not mine, Dammit!

What can I say – this is angsty GSR. It will be a darker fic, but bear with me; I will do good by you. Promise. Well maybe. Bwahaha… Finally, this takes place before GSR is canon; most likely after Grave danger and before Bodies in motion.

Remember NO beta… please be forgiving.

I upped the rating on this because of a few swear words, and implied sex in previous chapters.

Thank you all for your kind words of encouragement. I am a review slut, so you all are fulfilling my sad and pathetic need for approval. For that I am truly grateful.

Sorry this took so long to post… really – I was away on the weekend touring beautiful Penn State. I had a chapter of the novel I am writing with a partner to toss out of my head before she walked all the way from Florida to murder me in my sleep. Plus I worked and had a minor case of lethargy… It is gone now as you can see.

On with the show…

**Chapter 7**

When Brass, Grissom and Catherine entered the main surgical waiting area they found themselves surprisingly alone, save three other figures each of whom looked a seriously worse for wear.

Greg Sanders had clearly been sleeping when Warrick had called. After having pulled a double three days in a row, he'd had no choice but to try and catch at least a couple hours shuteye before his body closed down completely. And he'd been so exhausted and harried, after hearing the news, that he'd actually shown up in his Daffy Duck pajama bottoms and an old Stanford sweatshirt his father had once owned; to say that he was a sigh for sore eyes would have been an utter lie… He was more likely to cause retinal damage than repair it. This was the Greg of days gone by with his hair – uncombed – making him resemble more the used-to-be lab rat than, the Mr. Straightedge, CSI that he'd been trying transform himself into.

He'd been booked to fly out at three in the afternoon to celebrate a late evening Christmas dinner with his family, but Nick's injury combined the fact that night shift was now short a body on an already lean skeleton crew, had put the kibosh on that, as he'd been left feeling guilty about leaving. He moved towards the two men in the room just as the rest of the group entered behind him, a cold cup of coffee still clutched in his hand.

In front of both he and Warrick, stood a thin scraggly man in his early sixties; sporting short gray stubble upon his head and chin. The doctor looked haggard even by ER standards and was already mid explanation when everyone else arrived. "Though, Mr. Stokes injuries were not individually life threatening, he was at serious risk from a combination of them."

"But he's going to be okay?" Normally, someone who presented himself to the world as _very together_, Warrick Brown looked anything but that at the moment. Much like Greg, he'd dressed quickly and haphazardly. Evidence of this could be found in the holey UNLV track pants, matching t-shirt, and paint-spattered hoodie, he was wearing. Truth be told, he looked as though he'd just crawled out of a dumpster, and if asked, he probably would have admitted to feeling like someone had dropped one on him. "He'll make a full recovery right?" There was a note of anguish on his face, and a strain in his rich baritone voice.

Nick and he were like brothers in a lot of ways and despite the occasional bout of sibling rivalry, the two of them supported each other through a variety of difficult patches over the years.

"Barring any complications from infection, and the minor concussion he has, Mr. Stokes should recover fully."

A series of heavy sighs, and released breaths escaped the five people in the room.

Greg, who'd spent the last hour nursing his ice cold coffee, dropped it into a nearby garbage can and moved in a little closer, his hands shoved anxiously into his jean pockets. "So he's going to be okay? You're sure?" He reiterated at the same time taking in the distressed faces of his colleagues and friends. Grissom in particular looked brutal. His normally tanned countenance was pasty white and horribly drawn, despite the good news.

"In medicine we never say for sure, but again, he should be up and moving in a few weeks, and back to work in say six." Whipping of his sweat soaked cap, the surgeon shoved it into his pocket, and checked his beeping pager. "I have to run. There's a shooting victim on his way in."

"Now just hold up a minute, doctor." Warrick had waited almost two hours for news, he wasn't about to let the man leave with unanswered questions.

"Just what exactly is the extent of his injuries?" Catherine cut it, she was insanely happy that Nick would be okay, but she was also desperately wondering when she would actually be able to talk to him; hoping that he could help put to rest the identity of the young woman killed in the car with him.

"Well he's damn lucky he was thrown from the vehicle, despite the fact that that incident is probably what caused the fractured femur. Aside from the broken leg, he maintained several broken ribs, a punctured lung which led to its subsequence collapse, and a ruptured spleen. He has minimal burns on his arms and face, but the removal of the spleen, and re-inflating the lung were our main concerns. Both of those situations have been rectified, and his leg has been set. Within a few weeks Mr. Stokes should be able to get around on crutches. Naturally we'll be monitoring his head injury for the next twenty-four hours."

"Thank God…" Catherine swiped a shaking hand across her forehead. "When will we be able to see him? Talk to him?"

The doctor's eyebrows almost met in the middle of his forehead. "Well, he's in recovery now, but he won't be roused and coherent for at least a couple more hours. After that he will be in his own room. You might be able to talk to him then." He looked down at his pager again. "I really have to go." With that he turned and dashed frantically out of the room.

"That's just fucking great…" Already completely stressed, Catherine couldn't hold it in anymore. Slim fingers massaged at her forehead as yanked her cell out of her pocket with the other hand. "I'm uh…" She looked at the four pairs of eyes staring at her. "I'm going to call the lab." A moment later she was gone, as well, having headed outside to catch a breath of fresh air, and make her phone call.

"Gris…" Greg stood in the middle of the room hands still in his pockets, while Warrick seemed to have settled in on an orange plastic chair for the long haul.

Brass walked over and nudged his friend when he realized that he hadn't heard the younger man.

Appearing almost shell-shocked, the night shift supervisor lifted his eyes to meet those of his former DNA tech.

"I can work tonight. I know Nick was supposed to be on duty with Sara and you. Catherine should be at home with Lindsay, it is Christmas after all, and Warrick already said he wanted to stay here with Nick, so I cancelled my flight."

Work was the absolute furthest thing from Gil Grissom's mind, and the mention of Sara's name had brought with it another round of anguish and denial, accompanied by a cutting a flash of memory from the night before. "Merry Christmas, Grissom..." The recollection of her words attacked his already vulnerable brain cells, and he almost doubled over in response. Completely ignoring the younger man he moved to a nearby chair, and dropped into it, his head immediately falling into his hands.

Totally, confused both Greg and Warrick cast a baffled looks in Brass' direction, Greg's eyes still studying the older man now slumped disconsolately in the chair.

When no explanation was forthcoming Greg Sanders shrugged and yanked a quarter out of his pocket before making his way over to the pay phone in the corner of the room. "I'm going to call Sara and update her. I've been calling all morning, but she's not picking up." He dropped the quarter into the slot, and continued his monologue more to himself than anyone else. "She said she was going out last night, so she might still be sleeping. I know she'll come when she gets up and gets the message."

A thick hand removed the receiver from the younger man's and quickly returned it to the hook.

"What the…" The former tech was really confused now.

Brass sucked in a shallow gulp of air, wondering when it had suddenly become so hard to breathe, and then shook his head at the man in front of him. Swallowing audibly, he waited a moment to see if Grissom, wanted to say anything, but his old friend seemed to have withdrawn completely into himself. "Warrick…" He beckoned the other occupant in the room over with a heavy heart. He was about to break the news to the rest of the crew when a blonde whirlwind made her way into the room.

"Hey…" Sofia Curtis seemed no worse for wear as she turned off her cell, and dropped her eyes to Grissom before walking over to join the other three men, a mixture of odd emotions playing across her face. "I'm so sorry, I just heard. And I was on my way here to pick up a SAE kit from an assault victim this morning, so I thought I would come up and see how everyone is doing." Her gaze once again ran over the man sitting unmoving in his chair. Grissom looked almost like he was asleep, but his tightly clasped fists and jagged breaths were a dead give away. She glanced back at Brass. "I ran into Vartan on my way out of the lab, he was coming to see Archie and asked me to give you a message."

Brass attempted to wave the young woman off, but she was so intent on delivering her message that she didn't even notice it.

"He wanted me to tell you that he went to the Venetian like you asked, got an affirmative for Nick Stokes, and guest. It took him until twenty minutes ago to get a court order for the film; Judge Melford is apparently very pissed off at being interrupted during his Christmas festivities. Vartan said he's going to go through the surveillance and will get back to you if he gets an ID on the guest." The blonde CSI swung her head to look at

the hunched man for a moment, uncertain of what was going on, and equally unsure as to whether he would have told anyone about meeting the other couple at the restaurant, since that would mean admitting that he had been there with her. "I can tell you, he's wasting his time. It was Sara who was with him last night, _we_…" She indicated herself and Grissom"…saw them together at dinner."

Brass' face dropped along with those of Greg and Warrick.

Warrick simply shook his head as if to say…_I did not just hear that….w_hile the younger of the two tossed a furious look at his boss, pissed that the man had clearly hurt his best friend, yet again. How thick could he man be? Grissom knew Sara had feelings for him. Hell everyone knew. So why the fuck, would he date someone so close to home? Someone he knew she would find out about? No wonder she wasn't picking up. He was still contemplating the full meaning of her being with the Texan when Sofia continued.

She'd been analyzing Grissom from across the room wondering if her words had sunk in, but he sat unmoving, almost catatonic in his behavior. "How is Nick? I heard he was serious but stable, and again I'm sorry to hear about Sara. Do you want me to see if I can find her relatives…So they can be notified?"

That snapped the exhausted Captain out of his stupor, but it was a second too late to stop the damage. Not that he hadn't been ready to tell them just moments before but this was a hell of a lot more blunt than he'd wanted it to be. "Sofia!" Brass gritted his teeth as he watched the realization sink in.

"Sara…" It was uttered in unison, as both Warrick and Greg exchanged horrified looks.

"She was with Nick in the truck?" Warrick's voice betrayed his disbelief.

A cold shiver had run down Greg's spine and it translated into a quiver in his voice. The terrible weight of dread had suddenly taken up residence in his stomach. "Notify her family? She's not? She can't be…"

"Stop…" Brass ordered angrily, effectively stopping the young woman before she had a chance to say any more. He then turned to the two other men and shook his head slowly. "I was just going to tell you. There was a passenger in the car with Nick when he was hit."

"No…" Greg swallowed hard and shook his head.

"You're right Greg. We don't have a definitive answer either way." The older man ground the words out, with a malice intended for the blonde woman in front of him. "The body of the woman was burnt beyond recognition. We are waiting for DNA to give her an identity. Until then she is just Jane Doe… number whatever, Okay?" He fixed a pained stare on the two men and then nodded, indicating for the time being that that was all he was going to say. They didn't need details, and he wasn't about jump any further into an emotional quicksand by giving any. It just hurt too much to think of Sara as anything but alive, vibrant, and probably pissed as hell at Grissom - if what went down the night before was anything close to what he suspected to have happened.

There was honest regret in Sofia's voice. "I…I'm sorry I thought everyone knew…These things are hard to deal with I know… and it may hurt, but you have to accept the…"

"Jesus…" Warrick cut her off before she could say anything more. "This is so…" His voice broke and he drew his hand across his face, swiping nonchalantly at the tears that had gathered in his eyes. "It ain't her man." Losing Sara would be devastating. He loved her like a sister; a tall, white, gawky, outspoken, sister, but a sister none the less.

His eyes shifted to Greg, his heart going out to the younger man. Sanders' face had gone from warm beige to a dull gray in a matter of seconds, and for a second he thought for certain that the newest CSI was going to vomit. He reached out a steadying hand. "Nuthin's for sure, Greg, nuthin's for sure."

"Who the fuck did you give the goddamn samples to?" Catherine Willows was on a rampage. Her phone, though shut, was still clenched in her hand, as she burst into the waiting room. White knuckles scraped across the roughened material of her black suit jacket as she jammed the cell into her pocket for what had to be the hundredth time in two hours. She stopped a moment and eyed the other blonde in the room, before scoffing and then plowing on. "The person I talked to in DNA doesn't even know who the hell Gil Grissom is… let alone, recognize me."

"I dunno. Who do I look like Madame Blavatsky? I'm PD remember…?" Brass turned Grissom to see if he could shed any light on the situation, but it was Greg who answered.

"Mandy is in San Francisco visiting her girlfriend's family, and Dean, the day shift guy, is in Pahrump with his wife. They hired some temp or something to cover for the day." There was a sob underlying his words as he turned and made his way towards the door.

Warrick was off after him, instantly. "Greg, man where're you goin'?"

The former lab rat shrugged; a world of torment visible in his dark eyes. "Someone's gotta make the match."

Catherine, Warrick, and Brass all clamored in to try and stop him, but above their voices one other could be heard. It was soft and anguished, but spoke with enough authority to warrant silence from the other three.

"Let him go." Grissom stood and turned then, making his way past the younger man and out into the hallway.

He needed some time alone…

Some time to think…

Just some time…

No one heard his muffled sobs as he escaped down the stairwell and into the chapel on the main floor.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** They are not mine, Dammit!

What can I say – this is angsty GSR. It will be a darker fic, but bear with me; I will do good by you. Promise. Well maybe. Bwahaha… Finally, this takes place before GSR is canon; most likely after Grave danger and before Bodies in motion.

Remember NO beta… please be forgiving.

At this point the rating is for safety only

Thank you all for your kind words of encouragement. I am a review slut, so you all are fulfilling my sad and pathetic need for approval. For that I am truly grateful. Review MORE please.

Bwaaahaaahaaa…

**Chapter 8**

"Ah yeah…Well Merry Christmas…" He shook his head in disgust. It was the first time in long time that the captain was at a loss. At his side, his fingers clenched and unclenched angrily, but that was the only outward indication of the fury floating just under the surface of his calm demeanor. He wanted to slap the look of concern of Sofia's face so badly it hurt, but his mama had taught him better than that. Aside from which, he was pretty sure her expression was genuine, though that particular truth did little to stem the situation her revelation had brought about. He stared at her a moment, and then nodded. "Thanks for the message, Sofia. Tell Vartan I'll give him a call."

Clearly dismissed, the former day shift supervisor simply nodded, and headed for the door, she'd made it as far as the hallway before she turned back. "If you need any help contacting her-"

"No thanks…" Catherine's words were short, and laced with anger, but she could care less about whether she had offended anyone. When Sofia Curtis had cleared the doorway, the other woman slumped into a nearby chair, a trembling hand rapidly working her forehead. "You know that woman is about as useful as a spork."

Despite the circumstances, Warrick let out a short laugh.

"She's not dead."

"I know, Cath. And Greg'll prove it." Warrick had dropped onto one of the stiff plastic chairs beside her. He brought a tentative hand to her shoulder. "You'll do no good here, ya know. It's Christmas, go home and spend it with Lindsay."

"I can't Nick's here…and with Sara…I'm really not in a Christmas mood."

"I know, but do it for Lindsay. She's still a kid, and these are times you'll never get back." Warrick leaned into her and nudged her with his shoulder.

"Yeah…He's right, Warrick and I'll hold down the fort and we'll call the minute we know anything." Brass was busy mimicking Catherine. He suddenly had a brutal ache in his head, to accompany the one in his chest.

The blonde woman considered this for a moment before rising, and nodding silently. "Any news, okay…? Good or bad…" She leaned into Warrick and gave him a quick hug and followed up with a similar one to Brass.

"You got it." The older man smiled wanly, and watched as the Catherine stalked silently out of the room.

"Thanks." She called over her shoulder, and then turned to remind them. "Any news… Please?"

"Go…" Warrick ordered, and a moment later she was gone.

Brass pursed his lips, and cast a furtive glance the only other person in the room. "You good to hold down the fort here for a while?"

"Yeah man, go find Gris. I'll let you know if Nick comes to."

He nodded silently, but gazed at dark man staring back at him from his seat. "You supposed to be anywhere today?"

"Nah…" He scoffed, and watery green eyes met equally damp hazel ones. "I was gonna go to the girlfriend's sister's for some turkey later, but Nicky's more important."

"You sure…? I can come back, give you a break…" It had been so long since Brass had celebrated Christmas with anyone that it had almost lost it's meaning entirely. Yet, where others were concerned, he was always hyper aware. Just because his Christmas sucked, year after year, didn't mean that it should be the same for everyone else. After all, he could call Ellie at anytime and leave his usual half-baked Merry Christmas on her answering machine.

"I'll be fine, go find the bossman. It sure looked like he could use a friend, man, and you're it." The smile that crossed Warrick's face was halfhearted at best.

"That's what I was going to. He's a mess. I'm gonna go take him home, and have him get some rest before I have to resort to carrying him...I'm too old for that shit." A thick hand patted the younger man on the shoulder and then he made his way out of the room and into the hallway. The heavy smell of antiseptic burned Jim Brass' nose as he climbed onto the elevator and headed for the lobby.

He wasn't a religious man per se.

Although he'd been born a Catholic, and raised with all the vim and vigor of a devoutly religious mother, he'd slipped away from it some time in middle school, when years ahead of his peers, he'd taken to science of evolution and realized that it was next to impossible to reconcile the beliefs of the Catholic church along with the evolutionary theory. It might have been different if the church was more progressive and allowed its own convictions and histories to progress and morph to something that combined both the principles of faith with the undeniable reality of science. But the leaders living in that very tentative house of blind devotion would never allow that. So from that point on his faith had been homeless; though not necessarily gone completely since he truly did believe in the possibility of a god or higher being, but just not tied to one specific religion.

All of this taken into consideration, it bothered Gil Grissom on some level that the one place that now offered him some minute level of comfort was a place of God and tied to an organized religion of some sort. His seeking out and needing some sense of belief or religion in a time of extreme emotional turmoil meant that the teachings he'd grown up with were more ingrained that he would have liked to believe or even thought possible. He could just as easily have prayed outside on a rock in the hospital garden, or conversed with a being who at times seemed so cruel, while sitting on a park bench.

But there he was seated in a pew, staring up a some brightly colored stained glass, asking God, or Buddha, or Allah... or hell, even Santa, to please give him another chance with the one person he loved more that was even possible, and the one person he had hurt way more than she deserved.

No one was answering though.

No bright light shining on him.

No warmth encompassing him.

No Sara Sidle sticking her head in the door of the chapel and yelling SURPRISE!

Instead, he heard soft footfalls on the cold linoleum, a heavy sign, accompanied by the unmistakable groan of age.

"Isn't it funny that regardless of education and knowledge, when people are troubled and in need of guidance that we still seek out God? Even after you see the horror that this divine being allows to go on in the world… Even when you take into consideration all of the people who die in floods, tsunamis, hurricanes, and earthquakes, on a regular basis... And despite seeing the pathetic pictures of children dying, and starving children in some third world country, and the kids we see here broken and beaten and dead. The youngest and the innocent - the ones he truly should protect but doesn't - we still turn to him when we don't know what else to do?"

"I take it you don't believe in God, Jim?" There was a quiver in his voice.

"Sadly my friend, I do. I need to. And I'm not too big of a man to admit it." Brass had slipped into the pew beside Grissom and now sat his hands stretched neatly over the back of the next bench, his eyes following his friend's. "Even though he can be cruel, and apart from the fact that some of the shit he allows in inexplicable, I do most definitely believe."

"It's a reflexive action; a fall back to our childhood teachings." Grissom, blinked back the tears in his eyes, and ran a thick hand down his face.

"Maybe..." Jim turned and studied the other man's drawn and bewhiskered profile. "Did you find what you were looking for here?"

Grissom shook his head silently.

"Then maybe we should look in the bottom of a bottle of single malt…My treat…"

"Do you think it's her Brass? Honestly?" Blue eyes sought out hazel, and for a moment when the detective shied away Grissom thought he had his answer.

"Truthfully, if it were someone else, I would probably say yes." Fat fingers reached for the tie dangling from his neck and Brass fiddled with it.

"But you don't. There's no basis in fact there Jim, the reason you feel this way is because you simply don't want to believe it's…" The stricken entomologist swallowed back the bile that had crept up into his esophagus. He simply couldn't say her name. "That's the first stage of grief, Brass; denial. Sofia is right maybe we should…"

"No she's not right." A rich anger crept into his voice. "There are too many unknowns. Nicky spent the night with a woman at the Venetian. Do you think Sara would sleep with him?"

"Maybe they were both drunk and decided to be smart; get a room?" Grissom offered up.

"Friends would get two rooms, and there were signs of sex. Al told us that, so the big question remains. Would she sleep with Nick?"

"I don't know."

"How pissed off was she when she saw you with Sofia?"

Grissom winced visibly. That hurt. I had been tossed out into the air like the accusation Grissom knew it to be. "She wasn't pissed off. She was hurt."

"You're good at that." Brass had to stop himself from going any further; he was furious as hell on Sara's behalf. She was the closest thing he had to family these days, and despite that fact that Grissom was his best friend, the man had fucked with her just when she was beginning to get her life back on track. "I'm sorry, but she means a lot to me too. What the fuck were you thinking? Sofia? Jesus…Vegas is a big place, man."

"I know. I know this is entirely fault, Sofia was convenient, and it was dinner only and only twice." His eyes were fixed on the blood red heart of Jesus floating amidst the other colors in the stained glass window, and his words were soft.

"That's not the fucking point. Sofia? I mean she is attractive and smart, but you knew Sara and she were at odds with each other from the beginning, and then you go and date her?" He was supposed to be doing the comforting, he knew it but he couldn't help himself.

"She asked me out, I went. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe that I wanted to forget…"

"Forget what? That you have a beautiful young woman, who is head over heals for you? I just don't get it, Gil. Most men would take that and cling to it with both hands. Fuck work, fuck reputation. I've loved before, and believe me despite the fact that it is one of the hardest things to do; when it works it's also the most fulfilling. Call me a romantic but it's like being a kid and getting everything you ever wanted on Christmas morning. " Brass stopped, and took in the defeated and tearful man sitting next to him, his anger abating almost immediately. "Sara wouldn't have slept with Nicky. She would have gone home."

"She told me that she realized it was her specifically that I didn't want to be with…" His voice cracked as Grissom angrily kicked at the knee stand folded up in front of him. His hands were tightly clasped in front of his mouth as he continued. "And not that I didn't want a relationship, just that I didn't want one with her..."

"Nick is too much of a gentleman to take advantage of her. They're friends; he loves her like a brother."

"People have slept together for less."

"I just don't see it happening."

"Then where the hell is she?"

"At a bar plastered out of her mind? Sleeping it off in her car? Her mother died, maybe she went there. I know they weren't close, in fact I think she said they haven't communicated at all over the last twenty years, but the woman was dying, that changes things."

"She would have called, left a message to let someone know what was going on."

Brass stood up rapidly and grabbed his friends arm. "Come on. I need to make a few calls; you need a drink and some rest." He exited the chapel full steam and stopped momentarily before turning left. "so do I as a matter of fact." He added.

Grissom resisted, his heart pushing him to once again seek solace in the peace of the chapel. "I should stay here."

Brass nudged him towards the exit and into the emergency parking lot. "Greg and Warrick will call the minute there's any news. There's a small diner down the street. I'm going to send out an APB for her car, and have someone check the airlines."

Grissom nodded dumbly and slid into the passenger's seat. As much as he wanted the waiting and not knowing to be over, he also didn't. For now, thinking that there was hope; his heart - though damaged - was still intact. The minute they got confirmation of the woman's identity - a possibility that despite Brass' optimism was becoming more likely by the moment - he knew it would shatter completely. He had no choice but to lay his faith on the line and hope to God his friend was right.

TBC

A/N sorry I _had_ to use the spork reference…


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** They are not mine, Dammit!

What can I say – this is angsty GSR. It will be a darker fic, but bear with me; I will do good by you. Promise. Well maybe. Bwahaha… Finally, this takes place before GSR is canon; most likely after Grave danger and before Bodies in motion.

Remember NO beta… please be forgiving.

At this point the rating is for safety only

Sorry I took so long to get this out. The wait for the other one will be infinately shorter... promise.

Thanks for any and all reviews... ;o)

**Crippling Reality 9**

Warrick Brown gazed at the battered and beaten form lying supine in the hospital bed, and a cold shiver of fear ran through him.

Nick Stokes looked like hell.

Had it not been for the doctor's assurances, he most definitely would have already been considering which suit to wear to his best friend's funeral.

There was a severely dusky color to the unscathed patches of visible skin, though those were few and far between. Clearly the other man had been hit by something heavy and abrasive as a fair portion of the skin on his face had been worn away, leaving raw open patches, and the part that was still intact was a lovely mottled purple, blue with a few scorched areas thrown in. Add to this, a pump that sat at the foot of his bed - its sole job to circulate the blood from the collapsed lung, a catheter bag, and cast on his right leg, and an accurate deduction would have been that Nick Stokes would not be running any marathons any time soon – or even getting out of bed for that matter.

Long dark fingers reached up and massaged an already weary face, as Warrick Brown dropped into a nearby chair; his head, by now, hard at work running over a variety of scenarios that had Sara Sidle returning unharmed and with a very intelligent reason for her being MIA for the last 6 hours.

There had to be a reason.

She simply couldn't be dead. The entire notion had seemed so far fetched. Though, Warrick was privy to some private knowledge that the rest of the team was not.

Their reaction to the news that Sara and Nick had been together the evening before was one of surprise and disbelief. And when Sofia had suggested that they had spent the night together in a hotel room, everyone had balked.

But Warrick, a man of observation as opposed to conversation, knew the truth.

It was a very real possibility.

It was common knowledge about the lab that Greg Sanders had an elephant sized crush on the tall brunette. He had never tried to hide it, instead choosing to toss innuendo her way, and even going so far as to ask her out to dinner a few times. Despite that fact they had, over the years, settled into a closely affectionate friendship. There was still a thin strain of attraction that floated just below the surface, but both knew that nothing would ever come of it.

What wasn't common knowledge around the lab was the torch that the Texan held for the San Francisco import. Though the relationship they had on the surface was friendly and sibling like in many ways, Warrick also knew after a few alcohol soaked conversations with Nick that he genuinely was in love with the woman.

It hadn't gotten to the point where the other man had been compelled to do anything about it, nor did Warrick even think that Nick was fully aware of his feelings. But when faced with a hurting Sara, who may have been needing emotional comfort after a jarring encounter with reality, it was very possible in his minds eye that the two of them might have crossed that line; especially, if things had gone down the way that he suspected with Grissom and Sofia.

Fuck. This was not something he needed to be thinking about.

She wasn't dead.

Rubbing at the dampness that had settled on his cheek, Warrick nodded silently at the nurse who'd entered and turned away, moderately embarrassed at the emotion that had captured him.

"You're brother will be fine." There was a smirk in the young Spanish woman's voice as she glanced in the tall dark man's direction. Her patient seemed to have quite a few relatives that bore no resemblance to him at all. "But he may be asleep for a while yet, why don't you go get a coffee and some Christmas cake in the cafeteria. It's free."

Warrick stared at her and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He had pulled a triple after his day off, and could definitely use the caffeine.

"You can bring it back to the room if you'd like. I'm going to give him a quick bed bath so you might not want to be around for that."

"Right…" Warrick stood up, the joints in his legs popping, and moved to the door. Then, casting a final glance back at the man in the bed, he stepped out into the hallway.

"Hello. I'm looking for a Nick Stokes."

The petite Indian nurse stared up at the slim brunette leaning over the counter. "Can you spell the name?"

One dark well manicured eyebrow moved perceptibly up the woman's forehead, but she smiled softly and spelled it for the lady manning the emergency room desk.

After a moment of staring at the computer screen, the nurse dragged as small note pad from a nearby pile and jotted down a number. "He's upstairs. They just placed him in a private room on the surgical ward. He's only allowed relatives though, because it's a step down unit."

"That's okay. I'm his sister."

The note had been pulled from the woman's hand before she even had time compute the other woman's response, and with a tight smile the visitor had disappeared down the hallway.

It tasted like swill, and looked like asphalt, and the cake was rock hard. But it had filled the empty pit in his stomach though there was an ache there that just wouldn't go away.

For more reasons than one Warrick was hoping desperately that his friend would wake up. As much as it would be a good indicator that Nick would be okay, it would also be great to be the one who could tell the others that the woman wasn't Sara. He didn't want to even think about the alternative.

"Hey handsome…"

Warrick looked up to catch the dark and familiar eyes of a pretty brown haired woman. "Hey…what are you doing here?" He couldn't help but smile. She looked gorgeous with her chocolate ringlets and a bright red top flush against her light chocolate skin. He stood up and drew her into a quick kiss before she had a chance to respond, and she giggled softly as he pulled away.

"I came to see how you were doing. Juanita told me she sent you down here for some of the cement that passes for cake in this place." Her arms were still wrapped around his neck, so she leaned in for another kiss. "You know they use that stuff to put people in traction..."

They broke apart. "I'm okay and the cake… well yeah bad as hell."

"And your friend Nick? He came out of surgery alright…" She grinned against his chest reveling in the feel of his arms around her.

"Yeah. He looks bad, but he'll be okay. I thought you were going to your sister's?" Tina was an amazing woman. Unlike anyone he had ever met. He'd been attracted to her from the moment he laid eyes on her, but over the months they had been dating it had grown into more. And for the first time in his life Warrick Brown could honestly say, he though he was in love.

"I am. I was on my way. Thought I would stop in and check on you and your friend. Dr. Skeeves, the floor doctor, is the best. He'll take good care of him." Breaking from his hug she stepped back and reached into her purse. From inside she removed a plastic container and passed it to him. "It's not a turkey dinner by any means, but it is miles better than the crap they serve here."

Warrick stared at the tub of spaghetti and smiled. She truly was one of a kind. "Thanks." His eyes drifted to the floor.

"Your friend is going to be okay…" Slim fingers moved under his chin and she brought his eyes up to meet hers. "Why so down, baby?"

He sucked in a wavering breath, and tears flooded his eyes. "There was someone in the car with him. They think it might be Sara."

"Oh baby…" She pulled him into a tight hold. She'd heard about Sara, knew pretty much all of the team by name though she had never met them. She also knew that Sara was in a lot of ways like a sister to Warrick. "They don't know for sure?"

He moved his head against her shoulder. "No… we're waiting for some test results. The body was burned beyond recognition."

"Then don't give up hope. It's Christmas." She kissed him softly and then backed away, still holding his free hand. "I can stay if you want me to?"

"No you go. Have your turkey; spend the day with your family." He dropped the container on the table and caressed one smooth cheek. "I'll have to give you your gift when this is all over."

"Oh you owe." She leaned in and kissed him one last time before passing him a plastic fork. "I'll collect later." Waving she turned and left.

Warrick's eyes fell to the container, and his stomach growled. He was torn. He should return to Nick's room. But the nurse had said she would call him if the other man woke up. Another rumble made his decision for him, and he slumped back into the chair, fork clutched in his hand. It would only take a few minutes.

Jim Brass gazed intently at his friend from where he was leaning against the bathroom doorway.

Grissom was staring dead eyed into a cold cup of coffee; his food, untouched and long forgotten, sat off to the side, the eggs on the plate having congealed well over two hours earlier.

Brass had been uncertain as to what to do with him. He'd refused to go home, and alternately refused to go to Brass' home. This left the captain with very few alternatives, as he didn't want to take a distraught Gil Grissom to the lab or to PD. He would just spend his time harassing the others working there.

The last thing Greg needed was an irate and overwrought Grissom staring over his shoulder, and PD could definitely do without him interfering with the on going investigation.

So for the past several hours Brass had been conducting his business via cell phone from a place called the 24-7 diner.

It sucked, because the coffee was brutal, the food was horrible, and the red and white décor was messing with his eyesight. He breathed a shallow breath doing his best to ignore the overwhelming smell of fried food that could only be attributed to years of exposure and buildup. The aroma was so pervasive that even the booths felt tacky from the oil residue in the air. He could almost feel his arteries clogging with every breath he took. It wasn't until he was moving back towards his friend that he realized for the umpteenth time that the weight in his chest had nothing to do with the air, or food, or his health.

Sauntering back to the booth, he dropped into the seat across and placed his cell on the table.

Grissom redirected his attention to his old friend a glimmer of hope passing over his pale visage.

"Well no news from DNA. When Greg arrived it hadn't been touched so he's running the samples now. Warrick says Nick's in a normal room, and he's been sitting with him but he hasn't come around yet." He let out a heavy pain filled sigh. "Vartan is still running through the video – there's a lot of footage. Going up to the room it was a tall brunette with Nicky, but he hasn't found anything with the woman's face on it. Farber finally got a warrant to get the manifests for any flights heading for California; he's headed over to the airport. I have people out looking for Sara's car, but it hasn't been recovered yet, and that may be good news."

Clenched fists relaxed from around the cup, and the graveyard supervisor, ran a thick hand over his mouth. His voice was husky and barely audible when he finally spoke.

"If she was at the Venetian and left with Nick, it has to be there."

"My thoughts exactly; but a full search was run at their garage, and all of the surrounding garages, too. Nada… Sheriff is pissed at me for using so much manpower, but he'll get over it."

"Her apartment?" Glassy blue eyes studied hazel.

"First place they checked." The Captain leaned back into the seat, and tapped his cell nonchalantly.

"Nick's?"

"Second place they checked." Brass studied the table for a moment before bringing his eyes back up to meet Grissom's. "Listen… About earlier…"

Grissom nodded his head and made to say something, but was immediately stopped by a rapid wave from the man in front of him.

"You know the situation with Ellie…"

The CSI nodded.

"Well until I met Sara, Ellie was all I had in this world. I mean, we're not related or anything, but she doesn't have anyone really, and I'm in the same boat, so a few years ago I kind of adopted her in my own mind, yah know. I just check up on her every now and then, maybe take her to breakfast when she looks like she needs to talk, or has had a tough night." A sob rose in Jim Brass' throat, so he swallowed heavily, and tossed a small gift box out on the table; one that he'd had concealed in his pocket. "And she doesn't seem to mind." He nodded at the box. "Every Christmas for the last three years, while everyone was running home to be with family, or open gifts, we would go out; have a nice breakfast and exchange gifts." He smiled to himself, his head lost in a memory. "I always get her the same thing." He brought his eyes up to look at his friend, but Grissom appeared to be counting the gold flecks in the melamine table in front of him. "Do you know she has a bookmark collection? Gold book marks, so that's what I get her. This year I grabbed this really cool one shaped like Elvis."

Grissom was still staring at the table hand supporting his forehead, but nothing could hide the tear that had fallen from his eye and splashed silently on the plastic surface.

"And she always gets me a new baseball cap. A signed one too; I don't know how she does it. Last year, it was a Yankees cap autographed by Bernie Williams, the year before a Mets one, signed by Pedro Martinez. And she always bakes this fruit cake. Man… it's brutal," he laughed. "I mean this thing is rock hard and it weighs a ton. You could easily put a bullet proof window out with it. But I keep it because she made it for me."

Grissom nodded, and swiped at the wetness on his face, even his friend had offered her more that he had. Guilt was a bitch…And an eye opener.

"Anyway, I just wanted to say, that you're my friend, but so is she, and I know your love life is private, and really none of my business, but I just don't like to see my friends hurt. I just needed you to know why… I was out of line."

"No you weren't." There was a grief stricken resolve in the man's voice, and his hand dropped to the table, and he brought his eyes to bear on the detective.

Brass ignored his friend's comment, and tapped on the small gift before grasping it and putting it back into his pocket. "I don't believe she is dead, and I am going to give this to her when we find her, okay?"

Grissom nodded once again.

"We need to get out of here. Let's hit my place for a bit, you look like hell Gil you should grab a few."

"No we need to go back to the hospital. I need to be there." Grissom stood on shaky legs, and tossed two twenties on the table his voice faltering slightly as he made his way towards the door followed closely behind by Jim Brass, dread evident in every step. "Our answers are there."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

A/N: okay rating is still the same. Sorry for the long time between updates. Things have been crazy at home; car accidents, auditions, film work, and then RL have imposed, not to mention the other writing I have on the go. The next update will not take nearly so long. PROMISE. Right now I am in a hotel room in Cancun – with NO internet… there are some things in life that are not fair. That is one of them. I am going to trek to the Mexican convenience store that is down the way and post this.

Thanks to you all for your patience and your kind reviews.

**Chapter 10 **

The step down unit of the med-surg ward was excruciatingly quiet, though it wasn't entirely unexpected with it being mid afternoon on Christmas day. As was standard with most holidays, there was only as skeleton crew working most of the floors and wards at Desert Palms; the bustling emergency room being the only exception to that particular rule. What would have been surprising to someone unfamiliar with the workings of a big city hospital was the fact that the staff head had actually added a few extra bodies to that locale, in anticipation of an increase in emergency admissions - as was usual during the holiday season.

The woman making her way down the hall at a hurried pace was well acquainted with this practice, and as she listened to the soft footfalls of her rubber soled shoes along the seemingly endless hallway, she ruminated on how during a time of piece, joy and love, so many people found it necessary to hurt, maim, and kill others or themselves.

The waiting room was empty as she passed. This in and of itself was surprising. Checking the slip in her hand she compared the numbers on the doors lining the corridor and stopped in front of one at the end. Expecting the bodies that should have been in habiting the waiting room, to be crammed into the room she was about to enter, she slipped the door open and was surprised to find the room occupied by only a young Mexican nurse, and the patient who appeared to be still sleeping. She turned away quickly when the woman stepped away revealing way more of Nick Stokes than she had ever expected to see.

"Sorry." The nurse was supremely flustered and pulled the curtain across immediately in a flurry of movement. "Please don't report me I'm still a student and I forgot we're supposed to pull the curtain across."

An exhausted sigh escaped the brunette, and she chuckled softly. "It's okay. How is he?" He'd looked severely battered even to her own tired eyes, and she wanted more than ever to feel his warm hand in hers to confirm that he was still alive.

"He's going to be alright. He's pretty badly injured but the doctor said he should have a full recovery." The nurse's Spanish lilt made it a little difficult to understand her, but the woman on the other side of the curtain managed to make sense of it.

"Have there been other's here to visit?" Despite the fact that it was Christmas it seemed odd that Nick had been left on his own to fend for himself in the hospital.

"Yes…He has a lot of relatives. The curtain moved slightly and the woman's head popped out momentarily. "Who are you? You know this place is restricted to family."

The brown haired woman nodded softly and grinned. "I'm his sister. Can you tell me where everyone went?"

The nurse inspected the man in the bed and then returned the woman's dark stare. "The waiting room was full until a few hours ago. Once he was settled they all seemed to leave except for his brother." She corrected herself. "Your brother." For once the woman in front of her actually did look like she could be related to her patient.

"There are a lot of siblings in the Stokes family. Can you describe him?"

"Tall black man named Warren…?"

The woman waved her hand. "Warrick…"

"Oh so you know him then." Smirking, the young nurse ducked back behind the curtain and returned a moment later with a basin full of reddish pink water which she promptly dumped into the bathroom sink and then refilled.

"Yeah he's my brother." The brunette grinned sadly.

"Si. Well I told him I would be a while giving Mr. Stokes a bath, so he went down to the cafeteria for cake and coffee. You should go too; I'm going to be a little longer and the cake's free."

The visitor stepped forward her hand resting on the curtain. "Can I see him before I go? I came as soon as I got the message. I would like to…" She pointed inside the curtain. "And then I'll hit the cafeteria." As soon as she said that a loud rumble emanated from her stomach emphasizing her need for nourishment. It had been 24 hours since she'd put anything in her mouth except for an expired package of almonds she'd grabbed on the plane. Christmas surely wasn't turning out the way she had anticipated…

Juanita eyed the woman in front of her, noting the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. "Sure just a minute, okay…" She disappeared behind the curtain again, the sound of metal hitting wood sounded and then a moment later she tugged aside the material barrier.

A slight gasp was heard, as the slender brunette moved up beside Nick's unmoving form. "God…Nicky…" Was all she could manage her long slim fingers lacing their way through his. He was warm to touch, allowing a measure of comfort to seep into her flesh. Her mouth found its way to his forehead and she planted a soft kiss on the only uninjured patch of skin. There were bags of urine and blood winding their way under the damp sheet the nurse had haphazardly draped over him, and he was wearing what looked to be a temporary cast. "Has he come to at all?"

"Not since I've been here." Withdrawing a pitcher from the bedside table she bent over and emptied the almost full urine bag. "He just came down from recovery an hour or so ago. He has a concussion too apparently, so it could be a while."

The woman nodded and dropped her mouth onto his head again, her free hand trailing over the thick stubble near it's crown.

"I should only be another 10 minutes. Go for coffee, find your brother, and then I should be done."

She shook her head. "I don't want him to wake up there not be anyone here."

"I'll be here until someone gets back, and I'll tell him you are here." She indicated the cooling water sitting on the table beside the bed. "I need to finish and then dress him. I'll have them page you if anything happens before you get back."

Reluctantly the woman nodded, and gave Nick Stokes' hand a tentative squeeze. "I'll be back in ten." With that she left.

Jim Brass' face was a horrible shade of white as he walked from his Impala, towards the hospital, a somber Gil Grissom at his side. Slow noises of affirmation emanated from him into the phone he was holding, but he'd turned away so as not to allow the man beside him to see the look in his eyes. Flipping the phone closed he erected his mask and then quickened his pace hoping desperately to avoid the question he knew was coming.

"What did Greg have to say?"

The way his normally collected friend stumbled over the words was heart rending even for a seasoned cop used to dealing with victims, and their families.

"He has nothing yet." He was never much good at lying.

Grissom stopped and shook his head. "I need to know the truth Jim."

"That was the truth." Well the lite version.

"Please…" The word was plaintive and drew a heavy sigh from the police detective.

"Okay…" Brass worked to find wording that wouldn't fully kill the man's already slim hope. "Greg said he got a partial match only. The sample doc gave him was too degraded from the heat to run a full DNA analysis. He's had a sample of bone marrow sent up. He was going on in some geek speak, about the partial being nothing in the scheme of things…"

Grissom nodded silently, and kept moving towards the doors despite the fact that he was already beginning to collapse in on himself. The thought of never being able to see Sara again, smell the light clean scent of her hair, touch the supple softness of her skin, hear the tentative huskiness of her voice; was emotionally killing him; piece by tiny piece. Worse yet were the recriminations his own grieving brain was tossing out amidst the chaos in his head.

"Any news?"

The yell came from across the parking lot but its distinctive pitch identified the words as those belonging to Catherine even before the two men turned to look at her as she ran to meet them.

"Not really…" The detective shook his head, and motioned towards the entrance they were approaching. He waited for Grissom to fill in the rest, but when the man beside him couldn't seem to find the words to explain Brass continued on. "My men just got through checking all of the parking lots at McCarran – most of them giving up time with their families to do it. There was no sign of her car there or at any of the hotels on the strip, which is hopeful... And I just got off the phone with Greg; he has to rerun the samples. Apparently, there was heat degradation?" The last part came out as more of a question than a statement of fact. We're just getting back now. Maybe Warrick has news."

"What's taking so fucking long?" Catherine was never one to hide her feelings at the best of times. When faced with the possibility of a dead colleague and friend, one she'd realized after much self analysis, she'd treated pretty unfairly over the years; she was firing on all four cylinders.

"Thought you were going to spend the day with Lindsay….? We would have called if there was any news." The resonance of Jim's voice was tempered and sounded like more of a warning than the light question it had been phrased as. Gil Grissom was already coming a part in a way that Brass had never seen him do. An emotional Catherine Willows would only make things infinitely worse for him and everyone else for that matter. He hoped that despite her own internal war, she had enough sense to realize this. This wasn't about her or her own guilt; it was about the potentially crippling loss of a vibrant young woman its effects on everyone – in particular Grissom. His hand unconsciously slipped into his pocket and he fingered the small gift wrapped box hidden there. This was all way too morbid, he decided, and unnecessarily so. Greg had not gotten anything definitive, he told himself and continued his way towards the doors, Catherine and Grissom following along beside him.

"Mom, and if you can believe this – dear old dad, are taking her to a private tour of the white tigers' domain and then off to one of the Cirque shows – Vegas truly never does sleep, or celebrate Christmas it seems… I backed out. I would have just sat there thinking of this whole mess and I wanted to see if Nick had come around."

Brass simply nodded and moved through the automatic doors.

The lobby when they entered was a bustle of activity, visitors carrying a few brightly colored packages, and doctors examining new arrivals cluttered the hallway and somewhere down the hall there was a woman crying hysterically. Despite the crowd and noise, it was easy to make out the tall black man standing in front of the elevators jamming his fingers into the buttons.

"Hey Warrick…" Brass's words caused a drop in the clamor as most of the people stopped to look at where the voice had originated from.

A thick dark hand with long slim fingers waved at them, and then continued poking at the buttons as they approached.

"Any news?" Catherine hoped that his response would be more enlightening that Brass' earlier one.

Warrick shook his head grimly. "Nurse was cleaning him up so I came down for a coffee; I'm on my way back now. What about you?"

Brass related what he had learned over the past few hours and the three of them stepped onto the lift once it had opened and cleared.

In the back of the elevator Catherine slipped her arm around the shoulder of a quiet Gil Grissom, and squeezed him against her. He's been silent since her arrival – not unusual for a man who spent most of his time in his head, but still she knew he was hurting more than he would willingly admit to anyone. "Maybe Nick's awake now?" She offered hopefully as the elevator dinged shut.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a frantic woman sobbing maniacally. The slim brunette gave her a wide berth as she exited into the main lobby and stepped around a gurney shoved off to one side, its occupant moaning softly. For a moment she was tempted to stop, and call someone over to the writhing form. Then she smelled the alcohol and realized that he was probably just some poor soul coming down off a bender, so she moved on. Her destination: the cafeteria for a very large cup of coffee, and sustenance… It was going to be a long day…

TBC

any mistakes are not the results of too many margaritas


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1.

Unbeta'd so forgive me.

Also please forgive me for taking so long to post this. Believe me I am working on it… really. Next chapter should be soon. Thanks to everyone for reviewing you all are great.

Other than the language, this chapter isn't all that dangerous to read.

**Chapter 11**

It was a hollow triumph of sorts. Nick Stokes was actually conscious when the foursome burst into the hushed hospital room.

Juanita, who had just finished up was in the midst or returning from the washroom, was grateful that her hands were now void of the full wash basin she'd been carrying moments before, otherwise there would have been a huge crimson puddle in the middle of the floor. "Hola, mia…" Was all she managed to get out before she was fully infiltrated with visitors – a serious crime against the hospital's visitation policy… even by normal standards… but in the step down unit it was punishable by death – if the head nurse were to catch on. "Mr. Stokes is not allowed this many visitors…"

Brass held up his badge. "I'm with the police department."

Warrick raised his hand. "Brother."

"Sister." Catherine threw in caustically, as she made her way to the bed and nervously grasped the confused Texan's hand.

"Uh…" Grissom just stared at the look of horror on Nick Stokes' and felt his world begin to spin and the walls around him suddenly start to close in on him.

"He's with me." Brass announced and shoved the fraying man a little closer to the bed.

"How long ago did he come around?" Catherine tossed the aggrieved question at the poor nursing student like she was solely responsible for the young man's condition, and everything else that had happened to her, him and them today.

"Just now…" She looked in confusion at the man lying in the bed. His dark eyes were fluttering open, but still heavy and blurred with the after effect of the sedation he was receiving. She knew that any moment now he would begin to squirm. It was common place with people on a ventilator. Four sets of eyes stared back at her. "When I went into the bathroom he was still unconscious…"

The heart monitor that had been beeping quietly, suddenly sped up and all eyes suddenly turned to the person they were actually there to see. As expected, Nick Stokes did what the young student knew he would, he started grabbing at the tube down his windpipe and when he wasn't successful at grasping it, he started to thrash.

"Nicky…" Catherine was busy holding back one arm, while Warrick had grabbed his other.

"Bro', you need to calm down." Warrick's warm, composed voice seemed to penetrate his friend's thoughts and he suddenly went limp, his dark eyes begging for an explanation.

Juanita just stared. She was already in severe shit and the hospital Hitler - her boss – and she knew without a doubt that Ms. Dubay, as everyone called her, would have her emptying bed pans for a month if she were to buzz her now. She should have been more assertive; stopped them before they had all crowded into the room.

Nick's grip on Catherine's hand tightened as Brass leaned in. He'd come up beside the Warrick and didn't want to leave the blonde woman to open the lines of communication. She was already anxious enough, and the police Captain knew that anything that came out of her mouth at the moment would sound a lot more like an interrogation - than concern, and Nick Stokes deserved better than that.

"Hey Nick. Don't worry everything is alright. You were in a car accident. Do you remember?"

Pain and confusion was reflected in his eyes, and then he shook his head slowly.

"That's alright, man." Brass cast a plaintive look in Grissom's direction.

Until that moment the night shift supervisor had been standing at the foot of his CSI's bed, his eyes scrutinizing the spots on the linoleum floor. He was used to dealing with victims, and their families. He knew the state they were in often times when they regained consciousness. He knew there was usually confusion and memory loss, and pain, but some how when he caught sight of Nick's original reaction, he'd thought the worst. 30 years of experience just flew out the window, and he learned the true meaning of irrational, and emotionally involved. She was gone. He just knew it. And the word pain wouldn't have been a drop in the pan compared to the gaping hole his anguish had dug out of his heart. When Brass' words broke through the relative quiet of the room Grissom's blood almost stopped, and he was overcome by the need to run. But his feet were firmly rooted to the spot. As much as he wanted to know the truth, he didn't. If she was dead, which his head had already resolved to be fact, he could hold onto her in life, a little longer if the answer remained ambiguous; because after all, in ambiguity there would always be hope. There was a heart beat of silence, and when he heard no answer from the younger man, he couldn't help himself, he looked up catching his old friend's gaze.

Brass shook his head silently, and then turned his attention back to the young man in the bed. "It was early this morning. Christmas morning, you were coming from somewhere. We think it was a room at the Venetian…" He waited to see if there was any sign of recognition in his eyes.

Shaking with effort Nick pulled his hand from Warrick's grip and tried to reach for the ventilator tubing, only to have the darker man stop him. "Just nod man, yes or no."

Nick blinked slowly and agonizingly, and after a moment his eyes cleared and he nodded slightly.

"Good." Jim Brass leaned in a little closer and smiled reassuringly. "You were hit by a truck and pulled to safety..." The details would come later. He just wanted to get to the point. Sometimes victims were able to string together what has happened to them if someone was able to give them a fairly emotionless accounting. Once you started throwing in the minutiae, feelings came into play and chaos ensued. Brass had seen it happen many times.

The Texan nodded slowly again.

"Nick. There was someone in the car with you. Do you remember who?"

Grissom couldn't help himself, he'd moved closer and was side-by-side with Catherine. He could barely breathe.

Bewilderment flashed across the young man's face and for a moment he was lost. Then a look of complete anguish transformed his features.

"Oh my God she's dead…" Catherine let out a heart felt sob and tugged Grissom into her arms.

"Hey, who's dead?" All six pairs of eyes in the room swung to take in the tall slim woman standing in the doorway. She looked tired, and gaunt and seriously overdressed for the hospital, but she was breathing.

Sara Sidle watched everyone's jaw drop, and couldn't fathom for the life of her why. Foremost in her mind was the question of who, it was that, Catherine had announced as being dead. For a moment she thought that it might be a joke, but there was something about the cadence in the other woman's voice that told her - whatever was going on - it was for real. Uncomfortable with the burgeoning silence of the room, she shook her head and toyed with the strap on her purse, "Uh…Merry Christmas, and now who's dead?"

It was almost as though somewhere up above some deity suddenly hit play and the room erupted into activity. Strangely enough it was all directed at Sara as opposed to the broken man lying in the bed.

Before the young woman could utter another word she was clutched in the arms of an emotional and tearful Catherine Willows. Sara was both mystified and horrified all at the same time, and actually sniffed the air to see if the woman was drunk or something.

The two were friends and colleagues, but never anything that could be remotely described as close.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Catherine's words were garbled, as she clung to the younger woman as if she was going to disappear.

Sara's eyes immediately sought Brass' a look of total bewilderment directed at the man, but all he did was grin like a fool. Stiffly the willowy brunette patted the blonde woman's back, and gave her a hug for good measure once she realized the wetness pressed against her cheek was from her coworker's tears.

What the hell had happened while she was gone?

"Uh…tell you what?" Sara's words were muffled amidst the confusion of blonde strands that was pressed into her face.

"About your mother, your father - his death…Why didn't you tell us, Sara? It must have been horrible to be so young… and have to deal with that. We heard about your mom… her passing… I'm so sorry."

Sara's heart literally stopped in her chest, and she felt her legs go weak. "What?" The word came out as a whisper and this time, her eyes accusing, were directed at a dumbstruck Grissom.

"Your mom… Oh Shit! I'm so sorry." Suddenly uncertain, the petite blonde held the woman tighter. "I just sort of… Fuck…" What a way to find out your mother had died. "Did you know?"

Sara nodded into the woman's shoulder. "I did…," and for a moment it was almost as though Catherine was holding her up. Laura Sidle's impending death was something that Sara'd been dealing with in integers. After she had been diagnosed, the two had come to terms with the abuse that had filled both their lives. And with a lot of effort and a little understanding, over the past few years they had settled into an - if not great relationship - then at least a comfortable one. And while the loss of her mother hurt immensely, it was something that she would deal with privately, later. The thing that was truly disturbing to her at that particular moment was the unexpected outing of her horrific past. Other that Grissom, she had never wanted anyone to know.

Catherine gave her a final squeeze and pulled away, but the tall brunette didn't have much time to recover as there was another set of arms immediately wrapped around her; these ones belonging to a solid Warrick Brown. He moaned slightly into her ear, and gave her a tight bear hug, his warm lips brushing a soft kiss across her cheek. "Girl…You scared us." He threw a look back towards the rest of the group. "I'm sorry I didn't know about your mother until just now…" He gave an extra squeeze for good measure and then released her to pass her off to a joyful Jim Brass, his eyes drifting curiously to the mortified blonde woman.

Brass was not normally the huggie type, but in this instance he couldn't help himself he pulled the young woman to him and held onto her like she was going to be stolen away. "I knew. Catherine found out this morning and told Gil and I, but you owe me some details, later…" He added.

Sara was still trying to deal with the swirl of emotions and revelations when the Detective stepped back and gripped her by the shoulders. "Doll, I'm glad you are safe, you have no idea, but dammit Sara where the hell have you been? Did you go to see your mom?"

Her mind was still reeling, but she forced herself to answer. "Yeah, I went to San Francisco."

"Why the hell didn't you let someone know then?" Brass' dark eyes stared at her waiting for an explanation.

"I did. Jim, I left you a message on your home phone."

Brass smacked the side of his head and dragged his fingers down his face. He could have put everyone's mind at ease if only he had thought check his messages. "God… I'm sorry, with the accident and everything I never went home."

"Can you start at the beginning please, we've all been through the ringer, here." Warrick hands on hips, leaned against the foot of the bed and waited expectantly.

Juanita who had been checking her patient's vitals amidst the floor show, had decided she was done, and simply left the quietly, while the slim brunette too slumped into a visitor's chair next to the bed.

Her eyes settled on a stolid Grissom, who had taken up residence near the door almost as though he was making to flee. "I ran into Gris last night at the Venetian. He was having dinner."

"We know…" Catherine interrupted. "He told us." She actually scowled in her friend's direction. Something Sara would have found amusing had she not been so confounded.

"I went to the bathroom to check on my friend Lily." Reaching onto the bed she took Nick's hand in hers and gave it a little squeeze.

His tear-filled eyes simply stared back at her, but with a concerted effort he managed to return her grip.

"She was sick and hung over. We'd gone out the night before and she'd had… well more than me to drink and I was hurting so..."

"Go on." Brass was fingering the small box in his pocket; it soothed his seriously frazzled nerves.

"When I was coming back to the table, got a call, from…" There were unshed tears in her eyes, and she swallowed harshly. "I got a call from uh… the doctor, telling me my mom; well I knew she wasn't well. We've known for three years now that it was going to happen. She was terminal, but I didn't want her to die alone so I told Nick, I had to go. Hit the airport and caught a hopper to San Francisco so I could be there."

"Nick knew, but he was in the car accident." Warrick threw in.

"Oh my God…" All of the pieces suddenly fell into place for Sara and her tears flowed in earnest. "You said someone had died… Lily…?"

"Tall, brunette… Does that describe your friend…?" Catherine added. "We thought it was you."

Sara swiped at her eyes and nodded sullenly. "We used to be mistaken for each other all the time at Harvard, but up close we were easy to tell apart." The words caught in her throat. "Jesus…"

"She was burned really badly, Sara. It came down to DNA."

The detective's words were like a jolt of adrenaline for Catherine. "Oh, damn, Greg…" she announced, and picked up the bedside phone only to find it hadn't been connected yet. "I'm gonna go call him."

A deep gasp was issued by the man in the bed, and everyone turned to see a steady flow of tears running down Nick Stokes' face. Achingly, he lifted a hand and placed it on Sara's damp cheek.

Her hand covered his, "It's okay, Nick…" she soothed and swiped at her eyes with her free hand. "I'm sure it wasn't your fault." She breathed deeply. "God… It you could have been killed, too."

"Yeah, you were real lucky…" Brass stared at him gravely.

Nick nodded very carefully, his eyes beginning to droop heavily.

"You'll be up and at it soon and you'll be a hit with the ladies again in no time. Specially, with all them battle scars." Warrick grinned.

Despite the circumstances, this drew a small smile from Sara.

"Hey Sar, how did you know to come to the hospital?" Warrick's green eyes were almost luminous as he stared at her.

"When I got off the plane I called home, and checked my messages. There were a dozen from Greg alone."

Brass nodded. The former lab rat had been calling her constantly.

"God… I must look like shit." She stared down at the dress she's put on 24 hours earlier.

"There is no possible way you could look better doll face." Brass leaned over and grasped her hand. "You are breathing, so I think I can speak for everyone here when I say - you look great."

"Hey, where's Gris going…?" Four pairs of eyes in the room fell on the blonde woman who'd just returned.

Sure enough the man in question had disappeared. He'd simply slipped out when no one was looking.

Typical… Sara thought, disappointment digging its sharp claws into her belly.

Annoyance was etched in Jim Brass' face when he turned to look at the young woman in the chair. "He was a mess when we thought you were dead." The whisper passed between the two of them only.

The slim brunette huffed in disbelief. Not fucking likely… she wanted to say. Instead she nodded and pain filled smile transforming her countenance. "Yeah…" She stood, and leaned over Nick. "If you want I'll take first shift." She ran her hand over the shaggy brown hair at the top of his head. "Don't you all have somewhere to be?"

She eyed Catherine. "Dinner with Lindsay? You dinner with the girlfriend?" Her eyes had moved to Warrick. "And you…" She grinned at Brass. "A bed at your house has your name on it."

"No I'm on first watch." Warrick moved close and pulled her into his arms. "Go home." He gave her as swift hug and then let her go.

"I won't be able to sleep." Sara admitted. Her head was still spinning. There was so much to do – she had come home knowing that there were arrangements to be made for her mother's remains, and now there was Lily.

"Then I'll take you out for Christmas dinner… and spring for some hot toddy. And you can return my kindness with an explanation." Brass' suggestion came out more like an order.

Sara rolled her eyes.

"You gonna be okay here?" Catherine eyed the tall black man.

"Yeah… as long as someone shares the details with me; I got ripped off big time, earlier."

"It's a deal." Catherine leaned in and squeezed Nick's hand. "I'll be back for next shift."

The man in the bed nodded slightly, his eyes already closed.

"Me too, man. Take care." Brass grabbed Sara by the elbow and made to lead her away.

"I'll be back later." Sara leaned in and dropped a careful kiss on her co-workers forehead before allowing herself to be led away.

"Where to?" Catherine inquired as they made their way through the door and into the abandoned hallway.

"You coming, too?" Brass took the lead, as they made their way towards the elevator.

The blonde woman cast a tempered look in Sara's direction. "Oh yeah, this is one explanation I need to hear."

A low moan escaped Sara as she trailed behind.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1.

Unbeta'd so forgive me.

Also please forgive me for taking so long to post this. I have already started the next chapter.

This is a little Gris light but it's coming. MAYBE... Giggle

* * *

**Crippling Reality 12**

"He was a bastard."

Catherine's eyebrows drew together and she cast a wary eye at the detective sitting opposite her. "You know, Eddie was too, but I always did my best to make sure the Linds respected her dad."

They'd decided to grab a bite at Sea Blue, a small intimate restaurant in the bowels of the MGM. It was dark, fairly private, and as expected only lightly populated on Christmas evening. Most of the guests, already having eaten, had gone in search of their Yuletide gifts, hopefully to be found in the collection tray of a slot machine, or at the hands of a dealer at some card table.

"Yeah…well he must have had a few redeeming qualities if you married him, Cath. I can assure you that if my father did, it was long before I was born, because in all the time I knew him, he was an asshole."

Hot toddy had fallen by the wayside in lieu of a round of beer, and turkey dinner had turned into a salad and sea bass for Sara, steak for Brass, and Grilled chicken for Catherine. None of them had ever considered themselves traditionalists.

"Define asshole…?" Ellie had called Jim Brass that many times in the course of their tumultuous relationship. As such, he was unsure of the meaning, since he didn't consider himself an asshole… all that often. He took a swig from his beer and relaxed back into the darkly upholstered bench. They'd taken up a small booth in the corner of trendy, but dimly lit café.

Sara avoided her friends' curious eyes entirely and instead focused on the arduous task of peeling the label off the beer in front of her. It took her almost a full minute to decide that the truth was really the way to go, hopefully her dinner companions would settle for the detail light version. "He was a violent drunk." Her fingers worked the shiny Coors label slowly. "You know the type; we see them all the time Brass. Usually, when we're picking up their partner's remains."

Brass and Catherine stayed silent, waiting for her to go on.

"He beat my mom, and my brother…God they would get into it. Even when Evan was a kid, I mean small too like ten, he would go after my dad with fists flying, only to be knocked silly. I was little then. I would just hide wherever I could and stay out of the way." She finally managed to get the edge of the label to lift, so her fingers worked it very slowly. There was an art to removing it intact.

"What about you?" Catherine cast sad eyes at the young woman sitting beside Brass.

"Yeah he hit me." She huffed slightly. "I mean nothing like what he did to my mom and brother…" She looked up at the curious gazes aimed at her and smirked. "I was damn fast…But every once in a while he would catch me and, oh yeah, I would get it good."

Both seasoned professionals winced at this.

"We were all on a first name basis with the staff at the local hospital." Another corner gave way in her hand. "The cops knew; the neighbors knew…It's weird. You would think that out of all of those people someone would have said or done something to make it all stop."

"Back then it was taboo. To admit you were being beaten would be almost sacrilegious. No one wanted anyone to know their business." Catherine choked down a small bite of her chicken.

A heavy sigh escaped the brunette. "My father's best friend and high school buddy was the sheriff. He was there when some of the fights started. You know instead of stopping it before it could go any further, he would say good night and leave. Just like that. I mean how can you look a woman in the eye the next day and ask her how her day is going, when her face looks like raw hamburger?" She took a small sip of her beer and forced it back. It tasted almost as bitter as her words. "I hated the man."

"At the very least he was negligent." Brass shoved his carrots around on his plate, his appetite severely gone at this point.

"That shit wouldn't happen in this day and age. With the law the way it is now, it really does work for battered women." A flash of anger lit the blonde woman's face.

Sara nodded solemnly. "Yeah."

"I can't believe your mother got life though…What the fuck was the matter with the jury?" Catherine, speared some salad, and grimaced as she shoved it into her mouth.

Another heavy sigh…"As horribly as she was treated by my father, I can honestly say she was no angel."

"No angel is a far cry from cold blooded murder." Jim Brass waved the waitress over, deciding that he needed something a little stronger than the beer on the table. He ordered a round of scotch instead.

"Well in this case both would be an accurate description." Dark eyes moved sadly from blue eyes to hazel. "She was just as bad as he was. I mean there are times she egged him on." She shook her head slightly as if trying to get the proper words to fall into place. "I know no woman really wants to be beaten, but fuck…some of the shit she would say to him. I dunno…she was usually high on something, or drunk, but dammit…" A haunted look crossed the young woman's face, forcing a cloud into the chocolate depths of her eyes. "It was like she truly wanted him to hit her." She eased the label away from the blue bottle just a little more. "The adult in me knows that that makes no sense. But the child in me… well… I still hear her words in my head, occasionally, and I wonder what the fuck was she thinking? The tone of her voice…the language…" Another head shake was followed by and exhausted shrug, "I just don't know."

"Well, when we were together Eddy and I had some world class brawls, and yeah I said things that I knew would only make things worse, but sometimes, Jesus, you just can't help it." Catherine gored her chicken like it had insulted her in the worst way and plowed it into her mouth animatedly. "So I can understand where she was coming from I suppose, because at some point it's like – enough is fucking enough - and you snap." She really wasn't trying to defend Sara's mother, as she truly didn't know Laura Sidle, but if it helped to shed some light on her behavior and as a result made it easier for the other woman to work through the forgiveness and the grieving process then it was all good. Guilt could be a bitch and she knew from her experience after her ex's death that the brunette was in for a bumpy ride.

"Yeah but Catherine…" She paused a moment and then continued, a decision clearly made. "If you knew that what was coming out of your mouth would result in your head going through a cupboard door or a paneled wall, would you still instigate?"

Catherine stopped chewing and gazed at her coworker before shaking her head.

"And that was mild shit." Tears flooded the younger woman's eyes, but she fought them with her usual distain. "I mean there were times that she was so broken I couldn't be sure she was still breathing. But you know a week later I would hear that…God… that condescension in her voice, and then the pitch would go up and I would think… just leave him alone. Then I'd hide…because I just knew it was going to happen all over again..."

Brass nudged Sara and passed her the scotch that had just been delivered. In return she smiled and mouthed a silent "thanks" before pressing the cold glass to her lips and taking a liberal gulp. The condensation was cool against her mouth while the alcohol was hot. Around the table her dinner companions did the same.

"Did she ever explain to you what was going through her head?" Catherine chose her words carefully, as she dug a little deeper. She wasn't sure how much more she really wanted to hear. During the time Sara had been relating her story she was trying to picture Lindsay having to deal while the same type of abuse. And as a mother she couldn't imagine allowing that to go on with her child around.

Sara shook her head slowly. "She stabbed him to death while he was sleeping. She waited for him to pass out one afternoon and just…" The words caught in her throat. "And made six holes in him. God there was blood everywhere." The brunette's voice had taken on a soft, little girl quality.

"I'm still surprised that she got life." Brass reiterated Catherine's earlier comment in an attempt to draw away some of the pained look in the young woman's eyes.

"You know the law, Jim. Stabbing an unconscious man to death usually speaks to premeditation. And well, tox had a field day with her blood, too. I looked up the files when I worked in San Francisco; her blood alcohol level was .24 and drugs… let's just say the amounts signified long term use, and not the medicinal kind." The slim brunette had returned to the delicate task of peeling her label, but it was a little harder with trembling fingers.

"Yeah but there's also a history of repeated abuse, emotional and physical trauma…Sara she snapped." Catherine once again came to the dead woman's defense.

"I've thought about it for years, Cath and I keep asking myself, why then? Why that particular night? What was different to make that day different than any other, and there's nothing. In fact, that evening was almost peaceful. He came home, lay down and passed out. No angry words, no hitting. Nothing..."

"Did you ever ask your mother?" Brass gulped another mouthful of liquor and watched as slender fingers peeled away the last of the Coors label and went to work neatly folding it into a shiny paper airplane.

Sara nodded silently and licked her dry lips, trying her best to hold the onslaught of memories at bay "She said she didn't remember." Task complete she fired the plane across the room and dropped her eyes to the table when it hit their waiter in the head.

"Well that's entirely possible. In all likelihood she suffered from PTSD, which as you know has a whole host of symptoms, not the least of which is the loss of memory. I don't even know if it was actually considered a recognized diagnosis when you were little, Sara." Catherine had finished a full glass of scotch and her bottle of beer, as a result her words were beginning to slur slightly.

"The history of the symptomology goes back to ancient Egypt, but it first became recognized in Freudian times under the name _traumatic reminiscences_. The actual pathology was named in 1980 - though there was little known about it at the time. But I believe it wasn't readily used as an accepted and frequent diagnosis until the late 1990's"

Catherine couldn't help but roll her eyes at the younger woman, while Brass' mouth simply hung open.

The slim brunette couldn't help but laugh at their reactions. "What?"

"You are far too smart for your own good, cookie." The detective nudged her, happy to see her mood having lightened slightly.

"It's my job to know things."

"Now you sound like…" Catherine was about to throw Grissom's name out into the fray, but she bit it back immediately. Running from the hospital had upped his status to first class jackass in her books.

Dark eyes studied her, and then Sara nodded. "It's okay to say his name, Cath." Despite her words there was hurt in her eyes.

"Well, it wouldn't be very ladylike for me to use the name I want to use for him right now…" She shoved a final bite of potato into her mouth and then added. "Though being ladylike isn't something that usually concerns me, anyway." She waved the waiter over again and motioned for another round of scotch.

This brought a tight laugh from Sara and a chuckle from Brass.

"I just don't get him though…" The blonde woman was about to launch into a colorful diatribe about the bugman when her cell let go with a series of lyrical notes.

"Been a tough 36 hours, huh?" Finished his dinner, Brass leaned in with his fork and speared a bit of Sara's left over fish. It was a game they played, occasionally, and she followed up with the appropriate swat. His words were barely above a whisper, but Sara heard them easily and nodded. "Do you need help with your friend? Contacting her family?"

"No I'll call. She was kind of on her own. Mom died when we were in college. Father is in jail I think. No siblings. I'll get in touch with her work and see if I can get a contact number from them once the holiday is over. I think she has an aunt in New York." Sara took her third drink from the waiter as he reached to place it in front of her. This one she sipped slowly.

"And your mom?"

"Sort of taken care of." A grim smile of thanks decorated the young woman's face. "She's being cremated and I'm going to make arrangements for her remains sent here. I'll take her back to Cali and dump her into the ocean when it's a little warmer. She always loved the water."

"Well if you need someone to come with you, it's been a while since I hit LA. I could drop in and check on Ellie."

As swiftly as the tears slipped out of the corner of her eyes, they were wiped away by two trembling hands. "I'll let you know when I'm heading that way. It'll probably only be a day trip, though."

Brass nodded.

"That was my mother." Catherine slapped he cell shut and crammed it back into her purse. "I could get out of the show, but they insisted on coming here to get me so I could spend the rest of the evening with them. You'd think I was twelve or something."

Brass held up his almost empty glass and waved it at the two women. "Best for all concerned I think. I know I'm cabbing it home, you too." He directed his words at the slim brunette beside him.

A stiff nod from the Sara indicated her agreement. "It's your family Cath, you should have gone to the show with them."

"They didn't miss me, and I've seen it a few years in a row. It's a newly conscripted family tradition, and frankly it's boring as hell." She yanked her purse off the floor and dropped it on the chair beside her. "Well I guess I better head out to the front. Dear old dad always makes a show of pulling up in the limo." The purse went from chair to shoulder in one fell swoop as she stood up. "Hey, you know, Sam would probably give you all a ride home if you want."

"It's okay. Go spend time with your family. I have to go back to the office for a bit." Brass swigged the last of his drink and slid the glass across the table into the collection that had gathered there.

"Yeah and I have to go home and actually sleep. I'm on tonight."

"Screw that call in sick or whatever. You've been through the ringer – you need the time off. Take a personal day." Catherine had moved around the table and placed a tentative hand on the younger woman's shoulder and squeezed it lightly. "Leave it to Ecklie he can sort it out."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine; a few hours of sleep and I'm good as new, besides if I don't go in either you, or one of the guys will get the call." Sara shrugged. "It's Christmas, you should all spend it the way you'd had planned to. Plus with Nick in the hospital we're already short a body."

"Greg's going in for Nick's shift, and if you want I'll take your's. You can make it up to me on New Years."

"I'm already working New Years. Don't worry, Cath really, go home and enjoy your time with Lindsay."

"Okay…" Cath had made to turn away but quickly spun back around, bent over and hugged the younger woman, shocking them both. "I'm really glad your okay." Then with that said she quickly left the restaurant.

Sara smiled in embarrassment at Brass, who looked almost as surprised as she felt.

"You weren't serious about going into work tonight?" His eyebrows almost hit his hairline.

"I was, and am. No argument. I'll be fine. By midnight the alcohol will have warn off. And I should be good to go." Her look was sheepish as she reached down to the floor and snagged her purse. With a grin she reached inside the large bag and yanked out a neatly wrapped gift. The box was decorated with potbellied Santa's in brightly designed boxers and milling around beside him were an assortment of reindeer with noses almost as red as the one Jim Brass was now sporting. "Merry Christmas, Jim." She placed it on the table in front of him.

A broad grin spread across his face, as he placed her gift beside his, and then pulling a Catherine tugged her into a big bear hug. "Merry Christmas, cookie."

"This seems to be happening to me a lot lately." A laugh echoed through the restaurant as she pulled away and shyly lifted her gift from the table.

"Get used to it, there'll probably be more where that came from. Everyone was a mess when we thought you were in the car."

Sara nodded solemnly.

"Especially the bugman." Brass picked up his box off the table and within seconds had exposed a cell phone box. "Hey you got me a phone." Astonishment was written all over his face.

Ignoring the Grissom comment entirely, she was still processing him and Sofia at the Venetian the night before, Sara tapped the box. "You might want to open it," she suggested, her fingers dancing over the simple poinsettia plastered paper of her own gift.

The detective made short work of the box and a moment later was holding a brand new LA Dodgers cap. On the side scrawled in gold paint marker was the name Randy Wolf." Another broad smile split the man's face and he tugged the young woman into another hug. "This is amazing. How did you know?"

"Ahhhh…" She winked at him. "I overheard you and the under Sheriff arguing over stats one day."

"Well I'm not sure if mine is as cool as your gift…"

Sara was already through the paper and was just opening the small box. A gleeful, "Oh my god!" followed by a sharp giggle exploded from the slim CSI. "Elvis! I love it!" She returned his earlier hug with gusto and then beamed when he pressed a small jewel on the front and the air around them filled suddenly with "You ain't nuthin' but a hound dog…". A softness invaded her face then. "Thanks Jim, it's perfect."

"You too, doll." Reaching into his walled the Captain dropped five twenties on the table, and stood. "Come on. Why don't we share a cab home?"

30 minutes later and rapidly approaching 9pm, a black and white cab pulled up in front of Sara Sidle's apartment. It stopped and after a swift goodbye, Brass watched as the young woman made her way inside, and then tapped the driver on the shoulder. "Hey buddy, do you mind waiting a moment?"

The cabby who was busy chatting with his dispatcher, nodded absently as Jim Brass climbed out of the car and made his way across the street to a dark blue Denali that was lost in amongst the shadows there. He'd spotted it from down the street as they pulled up and was grateful that the woman with him hadn't. The window was down by the time he'd reached the car, but he cut the man off before he'd had a chance to utter a word. "Just tell me that you aren't going to go in there and screw her over again…"

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **see chapter one

Unbeta'd so forgive me.

A/N: Sorry about the wait. You are the best readers in the world. Things have been crazy busy at home and as always r/l has impeded this end of my creative pursuits. However, out of the bad (my lack of time) comes good - my writing partner Sara and I do have a novel completed and out to the agencies. When we get it published I will let you all know… Almost any CSI fan would appreciate it!

As always reviews are welcome and the writers of them revered!

* * *

**Chapter 13**

"No…"

"No what, Gil? No you're not going to mess with her head again, or no you aren't going to assure me of this. Because before I leave here I need to know for sure."

"I…"

A somewhat drunken Jim Brass didn't give his old friend time to answer. "You see I bought it hook line and sinker at the hospital and diner, man. I could have sworn you really cared – that you were really torn up, but what you did there at the hospital proved just the opposite." He reached down and yanked on the cap that was half hanging out of his pocket and placed it on his head. "And I fell for it."

"It wasn't an act. I… there were just too many eyes there. I need to talk to her, but in private."

"She's planning to go into work tonight, yah know."

"I already called Eckley, told him about Nick, and the situation with her mom. He's in Iowa… family reunion or something but he assured me he would call in some people from days."

Brass nodded, and almost smirked. "Like my cap?" He pointed to the signature on the side. "Randy Wade, man. She's one in a million. Don't fuck with her my friend. No more." He turned to leave. "Mark my words Gil."

With that he staggered back to the waiting cab.

A heavy sigh ground it's way out of Gil Grissom's chest, and he realized that he'd run out of time and was locked in a now or never situation." His knees ached as he climbed from the car and hand wrapped around a small brightly decorated box which he quickly slipped into a tiny gift bag. He made short work of getting to the apartment door, grateful that he'd caught someone going in so he didn't have to ring up.

In the back of his mind he knew he should have done something about the state of their relationship long before the fiasco with Sofia, but the sinking feeling he got every time he opened up his heart just a little was terrifying. Worse yet was the fact that he knew the minute he let her in, he would truly be gone.

It took him a full ten minutes of standing outside to dredge up enough courage to knock on the door; a few short raps incited a distant "Hold on…" from the other side, and then shortly thereafter he could hear softly approaching footfalls.

A moment later the door opened to reveal a damp and tousled Sara Sidle clad in a short clingy robe and sporting bare feet.

Underneath her wrap she appeared to be naked. A lump the size of the MGM formed in Grissom's throat and suddenly his mouth was dry. He wasn't sure what he should attribute it to but his eyes drifted away from the woman before him in an attempt still his body's traitorous reaction to her proximity. Typically Grissom, he smiled faintly and then chided her. "You should always check before opening the door, I could have been a rapist."

"No such luck." The slim brunette commented snidely. "Aside from which I'm trained in self defense remember?" Dark eyes met blue and for a moment the silence between them was almost palpable.

Sara was clinging to the door frame but hadn't moved aside yet to invite him in…

The words lodged in his throat but he managed to spit them out with almost a squeak. "Can I come in?"

Sara threw a glance over her should at a clock on one of her shelves. "It's almost ten Gris. I may be able to grab an hour's sleep before I have to go in. But that's based on the assumption that I can get into bed within the next five minutes."

"You're off tonight. I already took care of that."

A heavy sigh escaped her as she stepped aside; she was mid-stride on her way to the couch when she turned as if remembering something. "If this is about…" her dark eyes drifted away from him as if the subject she was about to bring up was something she unconsciously wanted to avoid. "If this is about you and Sofia, I'm not interested in your explanations, okay? You're a grown man, and have every right to be with the person you want to, but please spare me the gory details."

Turning to close the door Grissom bought himself a few moments, by playing with the lock, and then turned; his cerulean eyes taking in the woman who was now perched comfortably the couch. For a moment his mind's eye imagined her in his space, his home lighting up the dullness of his everyday life, and it was in that instant that the fear he'd held onto for so long dissipated into a hope of what could be. The thought of having lost her, the thought of having to live without her had already introduced him to a terror worse than whatever relationship disaster his head and shy heart had been able to conjure up. If only he could manage to tell her what he was thinking without putting both of his size 12's in his mouth.

"That's not really what I wanted to talk to you about." He moved over to where she was sitting and surprised her by dropping onto the couch beside her. She pulled her feet up to make room for him and rested her arms then chin on her two knees.

He heaved another weighty sigh and leaned back. "I don't know where to start without making things worse."

She studied him a moment an appearance of sadness barely concealed behind her dark eyes. Her exhaustion was evident in that her focus was almost nonexistent. "Just…" She flicked an imaginary dust speck off her knee. "Just spit it out. I'm a big girl I can take whatever you have to say."

"Okay…" He pulled the small gift bag out of the inside pocket of his jacket. "Merry Christmas… I know it's been a pretty horrible one for you. Maybe this will make it a little better."

Sara couldn't help but smile. Trust Grissom to shy away from any real emotion by doing something unexpectedly thoughtful. It was very much his personality. Give with one hand take with the other. It often left her confused and wondering if they had moved ahead at all. "Thank you." She pointed to a small tree she'd set up on top of a low lying book shelf. "Your's is under there. The one in the blue and gold wrapping."

The box itself was deceptive. It was the size of a book and seemingly unwieldy, but when he picked it up it was light as a feather. "You know I…" He stared at her trying to form the words as he sauntered back to the couch; gift in hand. "I thought you were dead." The emptiness her loss had caused in him, drifted to the surface.

A grim smile formed on her face, "Yeah…poor Lily." She eyed the gift in her hand and then placed it in her lap. She'd make arrangements after Boxing Day. See that she had a proper burial even if she couldn't find her family. "I honestly don't know how to feel about being dead, even mistakenly." She shrugged. "I mean, I was oblivious while everyone had to deal with Nick being hurt and all… The whole thing - it just seems very surreal."

It was almost instinctual and felt amazingly good when he reached over and clasped one of her slim hands in his. "Well it was very real to me and everyone else."

She could almost picture Sofia doing a happy dance – not that she was a threat to the blonde woman in any way… After all Grissom had clearly made his choice. She forced herself not to dwell on that fact or the sensation of her hand in his. "Yeah…I guess." Her cheeks reddened. "Can I ask you something? How did Catherine find out about my mom?"

"She started calling around looking for family members that led her to the sheriff in your home town. I gather he gave her an earful. I would never have told her Sara."

The sullen brunette nodded silently and pretended to pick imaginary lint of her faux suede couch.

"It's not such a bad thing that the people you work with know. They won't treat you any differently. Everyone here has something in their past that contributed to their being here, doing this job."

When her eyes shied away from him he reached out and placed a tentative hand on her cheek for a moment and then slipped it under her chin to bring her eyes up to meet his.

There were tears in them, but she fought them back and smiled tentatively. "Yeah well, I doubt any of their's are quite so sordid as mine."

"Maybe, maybe not, but what happened to you, and your family was something you had no control over. You were just a little girl." Those words sunk deeply into his conscience and triggered another round of guilt for all that he had put her through. "How did things go with your mom?"

"You know the outcome." She intoned solemnly.

"Yes," Concerned blue eyes studied her for a moment. "I've just never heard you talk about her. I wasn't sure if you'd been communicating or not."

A traitorous tear escaped her, but she swiped madly at it and forced a smile. "For years it was only a few letters here and there. I just… Well it was just too painful to really see her. There was a lot of resentment there, and to be honest there always will be." She hesitated as if deciding something. "She totally fucked up mine and my brother's life, but when I found out she was dying, I did my best to make peace with her. I mean we never talked of the past, really, just me, my future and the things she did day to day."

"So you didn't really resolve anything?" It was hard for him to hear. Having come from a loving home, he felt lost in the notion that she'd had to suffer so young, and there was nothing he could do about the fact that she had to carry that weight around for the rest of her life.

She looked at him darkly a moment and tempered her words. "There was nothing to resolve, Gris. This isn't like she gave away my puppy or something as inane as that. It's just not possible to steal a person's childhood, ruin any semblance of family they have, and then make it right with an, _I love you_ or an, _I'm sorry_. There is no forgiveness available here, only acceptance. And I have come to terms with that – in fact I did that a long time ago." She shook her head in frustration. "Occasionally, it still bleeds over into my present, but I'm working on that."

"You've done a remarkable job too, I mean for the most part." There'd been a few slip ups along the way, but had she not told him about her past, he wouldn't have guessed it on his own. His hand slipped down her arm and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Maybe…" She shook away thoughts of the past and quickly changed the subject. "Open your gift…" She pointed to the box trying to lighten the moment, and at the same time torn between wanting to put a little distance between them, and needing the growing comfort of his touch.

Then reality hit her like a sledgehammer once again. There was now no longer just the two of them to consider.

He was Sofia's now.

A choice he'd made.

Pulling back she eased herself off he couch and moved towards the kitchen – not daring to look at his face. She wasn't sure what she would see there, but if it was pity she didn't want it, and if it was anything other than friendship she didn't want to acknowledge it. "Would you like something?"

"No…"

"Jesus." Sara jumped and turned around to find him standing directly behind her. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"I wasn't sneaking, you just weren't listening." He grinned awkwardly, at the same time trying to steer his eyes clear of the lithe form in front of him. As she moved the top of her robe separated slightly revealing the pale milky skin of one smooth breast wrapped in a soft lilac lace. He swallowed heavily and stared at the granite on the counter behind her, for a moment before deciding to focus on her face. Never before had he felt so much like a nervous 16 year-old.

The slim brunette rolled her eyes and ran a shaking hand through her hair. It fell loosely across her face and she tucked it securely behind one ear.

Trying his best to distract himself, he held out the gift he'd brought. "I'll open mine if you open yours."

A pout was followed up with a grin as she leaned up against the refrigerator and reached for the bag – her slim fingers delving inside almost immediately, while Grissom attempted to unwrap his own.

A moment later.

"Did you superglue this knot into place?" His words were laced with mock frustration as he resorted to almost trying to chew the stubborn gold bow off. On his face was the look of a small child just after Santa had visited.

The lightness was something they both needed.

A loose giggle escaped Sara as she reached into a drawer and pulled out some scissors, and passed them to him. "You know some things are worth working for. Not to say that this gift is one of them, but a little challenge is always a good thing." There was a sad glint in her eye and for a moment she looked like she was going to add to her comment, but then appeared to have thought the better of it, as she worked to unwrap the gold box he'd tucked inside the gift bag. It was about the size of a broach box, and piqued her curiosity despite the looming exhaustion.

"I'll remember that Miss Sidle." He smiled triumphantly as the stubborn ribbon fell away, along with the shiny paper.

By this time Sara too had gotten down to a simple non descript box much like the one Grissom was holding. They stared at each other a moment.

"On three…" Grissom suggested; a glint in his eye.

Sara simply nodded in agreement, and then listened as he counted.

A slow smile spread across his face as he held up the paper she'd given him. "The Dugout club, Sara you didn't have to do this, it had to be expensive."

But Sara wasn't listening, she was already mid fling and a second later he found himself with an armful of tall slender brunette. There was a child like squeal the slipped out as she hugged him excitedly. "Thank you." Elated she kissed him animatedly on the cheek before pulling back.

"I guess it beats a book…" Both surprise and a rush of pleasure moved through him, as he contemplated the feeling of her lips on his skin.

A genuine smile was followed by a blush. "I always love a good book Gris, but this is a baby giraffe! I mean a real baby giraffe." She held up the picture that was attached to the notification, "and he's beautiful."

"His name is Bobo. He has to live at the zoo, but along with the adoption papers and the little plaque they put up outside his cage listing you as his human mother. You get free access to the zoo, a personal monthly visitation for you and a friend, and a newsletter." Grissom was seriously relieved. He'd been working a case a few months previously and had ended up looking into some of the zoo personnel. It had been an impulsive purchase, but there was something about the long leggy spotted creature that had reminded him of a certain long leggy freckled brunette. He sobered. "I'm just glad you're around to give it to."

A grin spread across her face and the words slipped out even before she could stop herself. "You have to come with me at least once. Since the pass is for two."

He held up the pamphlet she had given him. "Only if you'll do the same. I love the Dodgers. I try to sneak away at least once a season to see them play. How did you know?"

"You mean aside from the fact that you admitted to me once that you loved baseball?"

He smiled at the memory, his cheeks pinking slightly.

"I heard you and Brass arguing stats one day over a dead body. It seemed kinda surreal, actually. I knew he was a big baseball fan, but well it all sort of struck me as funny." She pointed to the pamphlet detailing the information for the dugout club and the benefits. "I would have picked up half a season or more, but I figured you, being as much of a workaholic as I am, there was no way you would be able to make all the games. This way you can choose the ones you want to see. Maybe spend a few days in LA in the process. I'll feed your roaches and Harry, if you want."

"I will but only if you promise to come at least once - I can always get someone else to feed my pets– that is, unless baseball isn't your game..."

"Hey, hey… you are talking to the Beaford Elementary School pitching champ of 1978…"

His eyebrows actually hit his forehead at that. "Seriously? I had no idea there was a jock in our midst. You'll have to join the softball team this year Ms. Sidle."

A full out smile lit her face. "A jockette – if you please and let me just say practices were for two hours everyday after school for four months in the spring – I'm sure you can see the draw." Her dark eyes had clouded and they dropped to her feet for a moment. "I made a point of getting on the team and doing my best to stay there." She chewed her full bottom lip for a second and then forced a smile. "And as for soft ball… I will if you will Dr. Grissom."

"Bad knees…"

"Lame excuse." She crossed her arms across her chest.

"Okay... but you never gave me an answer…" He waved the pamphlet at her. "Dodgers are playing the Mets home opener, are you game?"

She shook her head. "You have to bring Brass to that one – he would never forgive me. He loves the Mets."

"They'll be here more than once in the season and I don't think he has the power to even get mad at you. I knew you were friends but it goes way deeper than that. He was mad as hell at me for leaving the hospital."

Sara grinned at this. "Did he actually call you and say that?"

"No he saw me when you two pulled up outside tonight. Tore a strip off me."

"Sorry."

"No it's good." Grissom's eyes softened and he brought his free hand up to Sara's face. Warm fingers stroked her cheek. "You deserve to have someone look out for you."

Uncertain what to say to that, and equally as unsure of his touch, Sara remained quiet absorbing it.

"I guess you both get something out of your relationship."

Her eyebrows went up and there was a question in her dark orbs.

"You are the daughter his can't be, and he's the father your's never was."

"I was never looking for a father."

"You know, in Psychology Today I read that sometimes we're searching for something we don't really know we want."

"Is that what you think? That I'm subconsciously searching for a father figure." She stared at him a moment… his eyes now looking anywhere but at her. A realization suddenly lit her eyes. "Oh my God! That_ is_ what you thought? You believed I was interested in you because deep down I was longing for a daddy?"

"Well there is a big difference in our ages, Sara."

She shook her head animatedly. "Okay that just doesn't fly." She winced as the words tumbled out of her mouth but she simply couldn't stop herself. "Sofia can't be more than a year older than me and you didn't seem to have difficulty taking up with her…"

"Sara…I…"

"It's okay…" She cut him off. "You don't have to explain." On the plane she'd had some time to think, and despite the pain it caused her she'd decided to let things be. If Grissom wasn't interested then she was done. She wouldn't be chasing him, or trying to convince him otherwise. It was time to grow up. "What I meant to say was - you're wrong. I never felt I needed a father figure but even if I did you wouldn't fit the bill by any standard."

Grissom squinted at her a moment but there was humor in his voice when he finally spoke. "I'm not sure if I've just been insulted."

She shook her head stolidly. "That came out all wrong." A heavy sigh escaped her. "Look I've dated men my age, and often times they're very caught up in themselves, insecure, immature and, quite frankly, impatient lovers. I like older men. They can carry on a more intelligent conversation, they're generally secure in who they are emotionally, and not nearly as egotistical as their younger counterparts." She stopped for a moment, and sighed heavily, again her past was moving into her present. "Gris, I had a dad… He was an asshole plain and simple. I didn't know any better when I was a kid, so I loved him for who he was and the rare good times we managed to have. Do I feel like I missed out on something growing up? Hell yes. My family could easily have been the poster family for seriously dysfunctional. But all I really wanted, as I got older, the only thing I truly felt was lacking - was normalcy, and the silence that comes with being like everybody else. Not the freak whose family was so screwed up that her mom offed her dad. Not the freak who was too smart for 7th grade so she was fast tracked into the 9th."

Grissom opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

"Don't get me wrong. I like my brain. In fact used to my fullest. I blew through high school, and got a full ride into university in record time… And it was there for the first time in my life that I was treated with respect, and most importantly like everyone else. I was normal, if not a little young." Sadly she studied the man in front of her, not sure why telling him any of this mattered, but it did. "So you're wrong. But in the same vein, I wish that Ellie was the kind of daughter to Brass that he deserves, and I know what it's like to be alone. Where Jim's concerned there's a lot of hurt there. And if being a daughter figure to him helps ease that, then so be it. Isn't that what we're supposed to do as human beings?"

Grissom nodded, moved by her words. "Most definitely, and Jim's lucky to have you."

"Likewise. I mean, it's nice to be able to share the holidays with someone. After a while being alone gets old." It was a painful admission, and her eyes shied away from him.

Welcomed or not Grissom couldn't stop himself from pulling her into a tight embrace. It was the first time he'd acted so impulsively, and it felt amazingly good. Her lithe body was hot beneath the thin robe she was wearing and he did his best not to ponder this. He swallowed back the lump that had quickly formed in his throat. "I know it does…" He whispered into her ear. "And to quote Brass… I've been an ass."

The desire to sink into his arms was overwhelming but Sara simply grinned against his chest and attempted to pull away only to find herself held firmly in place. "He called you that?"

"Oh yeah… and a few other terms I'd rather not repeat." His breath was warm on her cheek.

She giggled, the comfort of his embrace seeping through her. She couldn't help but relax. I wasn't until he'd placed a tentative kiss on the top of her head that the alarms bells started sounding loudly. "Uh Gris…"

"Mmmmhmmm…"

"As pleasant as this is, we should stop." The words came out with almost a sense of regret, but in good conscience she really couldn't let it continue.

He allowed her to pull away enough to study her face but didn't release her from his embrace. "What's the matter?"

She rolled her eyes. "You mean other than the fact that your girlfriend carries a gun and a shield for a living?"

He winced.

"Not much really. But with her employment history I suspect she might be almost as good a planning and executing a murder – as me." She shrugged and wiggled a little further out of his grasp, her humor gone. "I never was into stealing another woman's man and I don't want to be second choice or a mistress. I have too much respect for myself and besides that scenario is far too complicated." She squeezed his hand and moved back against the fridge. "We can be friends. And that's okay."

"Is that what you want?" Fear swelled through him, the anticipation of her answer making him feel like the first time he'd asked Jenny Driscoll out in the 9th grade. Though, this time he hoped that Sara's answer wouldn't involve the words "get lost" and "freak".

Confusion drifted through her. She was unsure of what it was he was trying to ask her. She shook her head. "Uh… well, yeah… I mean if that's what you want."

A feeling came over him. It was something akin to panic, but with a shit load of excitement thrown in for good measure. The words were out of his mouth even before he could stop them. "What if I want more than that?"

She shook her head. "Then we have a problem named Sofia Curtis." She stared at him momentarily; her dark eyes sad. Her words were reticent. "I never took you for the fickle type, Dr. Grissom."

"How about stupid?" He eyed his shoes for a moment trying to figure out how to explain the fiasco with Sofia.

It had been a rhetorical question but Sara laughed almost painfully, and shook her head. "No… never stupid."

"Well I was. I mean with all of this. I honestly don't know what I was thinking, or if I even was for that matter. I seem to lose that ability quite easily when it comes to you."

Sara rolled her eyes at this.

"It's true." Emotionally and physically exhausted, he covered the distance between the two of them and gripped her by her upper harms. "Just hear me out."

"Gris, really. I don't need an explanation."

"I think you do." One of his hands traced a path down her arm and gripped her fingers. "Come on." He led her back to the couch, and dropped beside her. It was some how easier to say what he had to if he didn't have to look directly at her. Fatigue was etched into her face, as he cast a sideways glance in her direction. "What you saw the other night was… a mistake."

She grimaced at this, but any comment she was planning to make was impeded by the two fingers Grissom had placed over her lips. "Let me finish."

Another eye roll punctuated her nod.

"She asked me out to dinner a few times. I went. By the time I realized she wanted something more than friendship, I was stuck. I was planning to end it even before we ran into you last night; I was just having trouble doing it... But then seeing you there with Nick, and the hurt on your face… Well I told her it was over right away. I mean, whatever it was. I never slept with her Sara. She'd offered, but would never let myself."

Silence reigned as Grissom's words sunk in. The slim brunette wasn't sure how to take what he'd said. She'd meant it earlier when she'd told him she didn't want to be second choice. He'd had plenty of opportunities in the past to tell her how he felt. Yet he'd avoided it at all cost.

Hesitantly, Grissom turned and leaned in planting a soft kiss on her forehead. It was almost as though he'd read her mind. "She wasn't you, Sara. That's why." He boldly placed another kiss on the tip of her nose. "I knew I was kidding myself; just allowing her to be a distraction. It wasn't fair to her or you." His lips gently grazed her cheek. "And I'm tired of living my life in fear of being alive emotionally. That's what you do to me. You make me feel things that scare the hell out of me." He placed a tentative kiss on her lips but moved away when she didn't respond immediately. "You don't believe me."

Slim fingers nervously tucked an errant curl behind her ear. It bought her a few free seconds. "I do…. I just… Is all this because of what happened, Gris?" Dark eyes absorbed light as Sara digested his admissions and their meaning. She didn't want to say what was running through her mind, but the logical side of her brain wouldn't allow her the pleasure of accepting what he was saying at face value. "I mean if you hadn't thought I was dead, I can see that maybe you might have split from Sofia, but would you still be here telling me how you feel?"

"Yes."

A skeptical look crossed her face. "You can say that for a fact."

"I was going to come by today before shift started and tell you everything. I figured it was time I gave myself a Christmas gift. I mean assuming you didn't hit me over the head with something and kick me out."

Sara couldn't help but smile at this.

"I mean it Sara. I'm tired of fighting how I feel." A warm palm slipped under Sara's chin. "If your disappearance did anything for me, it was just to re-enforce just how precious life is, and how stupid I've been to waste all this time."

She wasn't thinking. It was overrated she assured herself as she leaned in planted her lips on his.

The kiss started off as tentative, but moved to heated and passionate almost instantly. It was akin to someone had adding a full drum load of fuel to an already smoldering fire. As long as she had waited for this particular moment to happen, Sara knew that if they moved too quickly someone would probably end up getting burned.

Stopping to breathe, they both pulled away slightly and tried to catch their bearings.

After a moment a bright smile formed on Sara's face, and she pursed her lips, reveling in the taste of him still lingering there. "Wow…"

Gil Grissom was confounded and downright lustful all at once. He'd known what he wanted when he'd come to the door. But now he was a little like a small child in a candy shop. Temptation was rampant, but he was paralyzed with uncertainly; surprisingly, not about them, but rather what the next step should be.

"Well, I guess there is a man in there under all those bugs…" The slim brunette teased, trying to lighten the moment and ease back on the swirl of emotions their touch had caused.

He chuckled, and clasped her face gently. "There always was, Sara. And that's been the problem all along. He never listened to me, I kept thinking bugs, and he kept thinking Sara. It makes for a very confusing state, especially if you're trying to focus on being a supervisor, entomologist, and criminalist."

A giggle escaped as she leaned in and kissed him again, but this time she pulled away before it got too involved. "We need to take this slowly."

He feigned horror for a moment, and then blue eyes softened as he planted his lips gently on her forehead. "I couldn't agree more."

"But that doesn't mean we can't sleep together."

Grissom's eyebrows almost hit his hairline.

"I'm wiped. I haven't slept in almost 48 hours, and I'm sure you're exhausted too. You shouldn't drive home." She stood up and offered her hand to him. "Spend the night. Sleep here. I promise not to take advantage of you." She grinned coyly, "well not tonight, anyway."

"Sara Sidle you're a tease." He ambled slowly behind her.

"That might prove advantageous at some point." She stopped, turned and threw her arms around his neck. "Merry Christmas, Gris." She pointed to a small cluster of mistletoe her friend had hung there a few nights before and then brought her lips to his.

"Merry Christmas, Sara," he whispered and held her, promising himself never to let her go again.

**Finis….**


End file.
